


Baby Steps

by scarletjedi



Series: postsecret 'verse [3]
Category: Glee
Genre: AU - season 3, Complete, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-13
Updated: 2012-05-13
Packaged: 2017-11-05 08:02:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/404146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletjedi/pseuds/scarletjedi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>School begins, and Dave and Kurt finally start a GSA at McKinley. Here's to baby steps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to Proxydialogue and raving_liberal for the beta work!

Football tryouts were more of a formality than anything else, especially when you were a returning senior. Especially for the McKinley Titans. Sure, Coach Beiste was an awesome coach, and the team had really turned around, was starting to be a big name. But--  
  
“You ready to rock this thing, fucker?”   
  
Dave looked up at Azimio from where he was sitting, holding his helmet in his hands. He had been relieved when Az had left to spend the summer with his grandparents; it was much easier to lie to a computer. But no time to dwell on that now. Dave smirked and stood, putting his helmet on, donning Karofsky like an ill-fitting suit.   
  
“Let’s tear this shit  _up._ ”   
  
“Hell, yeah!” Az came at him with an arm and they grappled for a minute before heading over to join Beiste and the hopefuls.   
  
***  
  
Dave stood in front of his locker, dressing after his shower, half-listening to the rest of the team around him as they caught up on their summers, jostling each other good-naturedly and settling back into their familiar dynamic. Hudson was in the next row of lockers with Puck, Evans, and Chang, talking about glee, of all things. Dave shook his head. It was like they couldn’t even see it. Or worse, didn’t care.   
  
Of course, Dave would probably be worse off once news of the GSA traveled the gossip circuit. True, Dave could pass if off as a requirement: The Bullywhips, sure, but a GSA? Nah, that’s not me. I have to do it or I get expelled again. It was a condition.   
  
But.   
  
Dave already had enough to lie about. He wasn’t going to lie about this too. He would just have to suck it up and deal. And it had absolutely nothing to do with the look in Kurt’s eyes whenever Dave  _didn’t_ come out. None.   
  
The glocks started singing,  _The Boys are Back in Town,_ and Dave slammed his locker. They were too much.   
  
“Can you believe those losers?” Az said, coming up next to Dave as he sat to tie his shoes. “Hey!” Az yelled, pounding his fist on the locker. “Nobody wants to hear that shit.”   
  
“Fuck off, Azimio.” Hudson called back.   
  
Az turned to Dave. “You hear that?”   
  
“I hear that.”   
  
“Wonder if the cafeteria is open yet,” Az said, loud enough to carry. “I really do with a slushie right now. You in, D?”   
  
“Nah,” Dave said. He stood, hiking his bag over his shoulder. “I could go for a milkshake, though.”   
  
“You--what?” Az said.   
  
“No more slushies, Az,” Dave said. “It’s not worth it.”   
  
“Tsk, Man,” Az said. “You  _used_ to be fun.”   
  
“I  _used_ to need therapy,” Dave said. “And fuck you, I am fun. You want Dairy Queen, or what?”   
  
Az stared at Dave for a minute, and Dave forced himself to meet Az head on. “Yeah, why the fuck not. Then we’re goin’ back to yours, and Imma kick your ass at Black Ops.”   
  
They left the locker room. “In your dreams, you’ll kick my ass.” Dave said.   
  
“Your  _nightmares._ ”  
  
Dave grinned at the back and forth. It was hard sometimes, in the face of his Secret, to remember that Az really  _was_ his best friend, and  _why._ They were almost out of the building when Dave reached for his keys and realized they weren’t in his pocket.   
  
“Fuck,” He said. “I left my keys in my locker. I’ll be right back.” Dave jogged back to the lockers.   
  
“Hurry the fuck up,” Az called after him. “I want my Blizzard.”   
  
“Yeah, like it was your idea,” Dave muttered as he pushed his way back into the locker room. Sure enough, there were his keys, sitting on the shelf in his locker. He closed the door and turned, only to find himself surrounded by the glocks.   
  
“Sup?” Dave asked, and fought to not press himself against the lockers.   
  
“You mean what you said?” Hudson began. “No more slushies?”   
  
“Yeah,” Dave said, shrugging.

  
“Cool,” Hudson said, and backed away. The other glocks followed him out the door, only Puck turned around to say:  
  
“Welcome back, Karofsky.”  
  
“Yeah, you too,” Dave said, but they were gone. Dave shook his head, and left to re-join Az.  
  
“The fuck kept you?” Az said. “I nearly died of hunger, here, man.”  
  
Dave snorted. “Yeah, that’s likely.”  
  
“Aw, fuck you.” Az pushed open the double doors and they walked back out into the August heat. “Fuck me, it’s hot.”  
  
“It is summer, fucker.”  
  
“One day, Imma punch that smug mouth, and you won’t be a smartass no more.”  
  
“Try it, tons of fun. I can run circles ‘round you.”  
  
“Oh yeah?” Az started to shuffle. “Come at me, bro.”  
  
Dave swung, and Az dodged and they shadowboxed their way to Dave’s truck. Dave threw their bags in the back, and when he started the engine, Az took over the radio, turning it to the local top 40 station, without waiting to hear what was already playing.  
  
“You’re my bro, man, but you got shit taste in music.”  
  
Dave rolled his eyes. Az had been giving him shit for his music ever since he had first gotten his truck. His grandparents had been in town, and he had the radio set to the big band station from when he had driven his grandfather around for errands (but mostly to show off his new driving skills). He kept telling Az it was just for his grandfather, and if the station had found a way into his presets, well, what Az didn’t know about Dave could fill a book.  
  
“Whatever,” Dave muttered, and drove to Dairy Queen, listening to Az butcher Taio Cruz in the passenger seat.  
  
“Get the fuck out of my truck, you tone deaf bastard,” Dave said once they parked, and Az followed him inside, continuing the song louder and even further off key.  
  
Az broke off, laughing, and sauntered up to the counter.  
  
Later that night, when Dave’s eyes felt strained and gritty from staring at the TV, Az finally threw down the remote to call it a night. Dave stretched. This afternoon had been--good. Like things had been before he went all fucked in the head over Kurt Hummel.  
  
“Imma say this once, so don’t get excited,” Az said. “But I fucking missed you, bro.”  
  
Dave grinned at Az, because he’d missed Az, too. And for longer. “Yeah, me too.” They bumped fists, and Az rolled to his feet.  
  
“All right, enough of this gay shit. I gotta head home.”  
  
It was like a kick in the gut; Dave felt his chest tighten, and forced out a “yeah. Later, fucker,” to the “Peace!” Az tossed over his shoulder. He told himself that it hurt more because he hadn’t been expecting it, that it had blindsided him; that he’s been stupid enough to _forget._  
  
Dave groaned and fell back onto his bed. His phone buzzed. It was Kurt.  
  
 _Tomorrow. 10am @ the Lima Bean? Bring a notebook._  
  
Right. Their planning session. _k._ He texted back. _c u there._  
  
 _:)_  
  
Dave smiled wryly and let the phone drop to the bed. He still wasn’t entirely sure about this club, still had moments of blind panic that made him want to crawl as far into his closet as possible and set down roots, but--  
  
Kurt was right. A GSA was just what McKinley needed. And when he finally did come out, or God help him if he was _outed_ , he was going to need it, too.  
  
***  
  
Dave really didn’t think he needed coffee at the moment, he was already jittery enough to jump out of his skin from nerves, but he needed something to do with his hands, and sitting alone in a coffee shop with no coffee was--conspicuous. He would stick out out enough when Kurt--  
  
Kurt dropped heavily into the chair across from him, drinking deeply from something that looked, and smelled, like it was mostly sugar. He looked frazzled.  
  
“You okay?” Dave asked before he could think better of it.  
  
Kurt swallowed, put the cup on the table, and licked whip cream from his upper lip. Dave felt something short in his brain just for a moment, and he barely heard Kurt say:  
  
“Yes--well, no , but it’s not--” Kurt sighed. “Blaine and I had a fight and I’d really rather not talk about it.”  
  
“Okay,” Dave said. He could live without hearing about Prep School. Dave reached into his backpack for his notebook. Since he had gotten his letterman, when he really needed a notebook he had curled one up and stuck it in his pocket--too cool for school. But he figured the attention of wearing his jacket while at the Lima Bean with Kurt was too much, and so he had brought his backpack, and like always, had overfilled it. So, in addition to the notebook, he had pens and printouts of information he had found online about starting GSA programs, and different things they could do with the club, gum, a gameboy with Pokemon Yellow because fuck you that game kicked ass, and a dog eared copy of _Captain Blood_ that lived in the bottom of the bag because Dave learned long ago that pirates beat ninjas and Errol Flynn was hot. He pulled out his notebook and a pen, and looked up to see Kurt staring at him.  
  
“What?” he asked.  
  
“You--you’re the first person not to push.”  
  
Dave shrugged. “It’s your life. You don’t wanna tell me, it’s none of my business.” Because if there was one thing Dave _got,_ was how annoying it was to have people constantly asking you to talk when it was the last thing you wanted; when all you wanted was to forget, just a little bit.  
  
“Well,” Kurt said. “Thanks.”  
  
Dave shrugged. “So, how we gonna do this?”  
  
“Well,” Kurt said. “We’re going to need an advisor, someone to sit in on meetings and such. So, maybe we should start there? And maybe more than one, in case the one we want says no?”  
  
Dave nodded. “Okay. I could ask The Beiste, I guess. She’s been real good about promoting anti-bullying.”  
  
“That works,” Kurt said, and Dave wrote _ask Coach_ on his paper. “We could ask Ms Pillsbury, too.”  
  
“Not Mr. Schuster?” Dave asked, even as he wrote _and Ms. P_.  
  
Kurt snorted. “No way. He has his moments as a teacher, but he’s largely oblivious to the bullying in this school, and he’s uncomfortable about gays in general, so...”  
  
“But he runs Glee,” Dave said, and wow, where his filter go? He was worse than Hudson. Kurt sighed. “I mean,” Dave said, “I thought the arts were supposed to be all accepting and shit.”  
  
“Yes, one would think,” Kurt said. “But often, or at least often in Lima, being in the arts doesn’t mean you’re more accepting, but that you’re forced to be _tolerant_. Because it’s expected of you.” He sighed. “It all comes down to peer pressure, one way or the other.”  
  
“Oh,” Dave said. He stared down at his paper. That was--depressing.  
  
“That’s why we’re doing this, David. To turn help turn intolerance _and_ tolerance into acceptance. Anyway, in a year we’ll be out of Lima, and hopefully leave some of this crap behind.”  
  
“How do you know?” Dave asked, hating the way his throat went tight. He drank some of his coffee. It was cold.  
  
“Know what?” Kurt asked.  
  
“That I’ll be out of Lima.”  
  
Kurt blinked at him. “Do you want to stay?”  
  
“Hell no.” David said. There was nothing for him here that wouldn’t lead him to the bleak future Santana had painted for him, still in the closet and half-crazy in a loveless marriage.  
  
“Then you’ll get out. One way or another.” He leaned forward. “This place is poison for boys like us, Dave,” he said, voice barely audible over the hum of the shop. “You’ve felt it already. We’re going to get out because _there is no other option._ ”  
  
Dave nodded. “I’ll talk to Coach tomorrow. We’re in for training in the morning. If she says yes, I’ll let you know.”  
  
“Wonderful,” Kurt sat back and picked up his coffee, crossing his legs and bouncing his foot. “So have you thought about what you want from a GSA?”  
  
Dave thought about the papers in his bag, with phrases like “safe space” and “positive environment” and “community enlightenment.”; the how-tos for events and days to honor and observe; the push to be forward, to move towards coming out, and coming out _safely_. And Dave thought about his own life, and what helped _him_ the most.  
  
“I want a place where I can just _be_.”  
  
Kurt reached over and covered Dave’s hand with his own, just for a moment, and Dave looked at Kurt, feeling the lingering warmth tingle. Kurt was smiling, a soft expression in his eyes.  
  
“We’ll make one,” Kurt said, and Dave smiled back, ducking his head and nodding.  
  
“So, _a place to just be_ is our first priority. But I think our sponsor, whoever it ends up being, will push for us to have some kind of activities planned, or goals. I know of a couple special days I want to celebrate, like National Coming Out day.”  
  
Dave froze. Kurt waved a hand. “It’s not mandatory to come out, of course, but if someone was waiting for the right moment, then that could be an opportunity. And, of course, one needn't come out as gay to come out. Anything that you’re keeping in your closet could count.”  
  
“Even skeletons?” Dave asked.  
  
Kurt sniffed. “I believe the correct terms is _flesh and blood challenged,_ thank you.”  
  
Dave laughed. “Well, I don’t know much, but I did some research last night,” Dave dug out the printouts, and grinned at Kurt’s wide-eyed look. He flipped through the pages until he came to the one he was looking for. “Here’s a list of activities other GSAs have done. Maybe we can decide as a group to do a couple?”  
  
Kurt took the paper, smile growing as he read. “You enjoy confounding my expectations, don’t you?”  
  
“Heh,” Dave laughed. “Yeah, a little.” At Kurt’s look, he grinned. “Okay, a lot.”  
  
“I have to say, I’m starting to like this side of you.” Kurt sat back, watching Dave over the rim of his coffee cup.  
  
“Yeah,” Dave said. “Me, too.”  
  
“Well, hey, look who it is!” Dave heard the voice and froze, because this was exactly the last thing he wanted, recognition, and worse, he _knew_ that voice, would know it even if he hadn’t seen the way Kurt tensed; Popped-Collar Douche. “Gay-Face and Closet-Cub.”  
  
“Meerkat,” Kurt sneered.  
  
“Go away, dickwad,” Dave growled. He could feel it, that old familiar urge to panic, to run, fight or flight, and his knuckles itched with the need to brake Popped-Collar’s teeth.  
  
“Aw, Cubby, there’s no need for that.”  
  
“Maybe not,” Kurt said. “But there’s no need for you to be here, bothering us, either. So go crawl back under the rock you crawled from, before the sight of your obnoxious horse-teeth makes me puke.”  
  
“You know, If anyone’s going to puke, it’s going to be me.” Popped-Collar leaned in closer. “You reek of desperation.”  
  
“Manwhore,” Kurt snapped back, but he was shaking. Dave looked between the two, relief at being mostly ignored warring with concern for Kurt; he was missing something here.  
  
Popped-Collar just grinned, standing up and backing away, licking a finger, and drawing a tally mark in the air. His eyes cut over to Dave, and just smirked, walking away without another word.  
  
“Please tell me that asshole isn’t going to our school,” Dave said.  
  
“No,” Kurt said shortly. “Dalton.”  
  
Dave blinked. “Isn’t that where--” and the pieces fell into place; the anger, the score, that night at Scandals. “He’s after your man.”  
  
Kurt sniffed. “He isn’t exactly subtle about it, no. And the only one who can’t see it is Blaine.” Dave raised his eyebrows at that, wondering how much Blaine couldn’t see compared to how much he told Kurt he couldn’t see. He felt mildly bad thanking like that--he was Kurt’s boyfriend, asshole or no--but not too bad. Kurt sighed. “It’s why we fought,” he said, silently. “Well, more like his presence is highlighting things we would have fought about anyway, but--” he shook his head. “Sometimes I feel like I’m the only one holding on.”  
  
Dave didn’t think about it, just reached over and gently squeezed Kurt’s forearm, like he would for his father, or like his grandfather had done for him when Dave was so messed up in his head he couldn’t stand to be hugged. Kurt looked up in surprise, but covered Dave’s hand with his own in thanks, and smiled.  
  
***  
  
 _One of the biggest problems with admitting to yourself that you’re gay,_ Dave thought, _Is thinking up excuses that everyone will believe when you can’t face the locker room._ He knocked on the door to Beiste’s office, still in his practice uniform, glad for the excuse to delay this time, at least. He heard Beiste call out that the door was open, and he poked his head in.  
  
“Hey, Coach. Can I talk to you?”  
  
Beiste waved him in, jerking her thumb at the seat. She was seated at her desk, looking over her playbook. “You did good out there today, Karofsky.”  
  
“Thanks, Coach,” Dave said, and sat. He hesitated.  
  
“What’s on your mind, kid?” Beiste said, looking up.  
  
It was on the tip of his tongue to bring up the circumstances of his return to McKinley the year before, but what came out of his mouth was simply, “Hummel and I want to start a GSA, and we want you to be our sponsor.”  
  
Beiste put her pen down, and folded her hands over he playbook. “You’ve talked about this?”  
  
“Yes, Coach,” Dave said. Beiste studied him for a moment longer, and Dave could just imagine what was running through her head. Before Dave did something stupid, like blurting everything out just to break the silence, Beiste nodded slowly, like she had seen all she needed to.  
  
“I’d be honored,” she said. “Get me the paperwork, and I’ll talk to Figgins about a room.”  
  
Dave grinned, feeling almost giddy with relief. “Thanks, Coach.”  
  
“It’s no problem. I think a GSA is exactly what this school needs.”  
  
“Yeah,” Dave agreed. “That’s what Kurt said.”  
  
Beiste just nodded again, “And I think it’ll be good for you, too.”  
  
“Yeah, It’d be nice to--” Dave stopped, realizing what he’d just--he’d just--he felt the blood rush from his face, and he was glad he was sitting, because if he was standing, he probably would have fallen over. Then Beiste was next to him, her hand on his shoulder, telling him to _breathe, it’s okay, just breathe._  
  
When Dave could force his mouth to work again, he said, “You--you know? That I’m--” Dave swallowed; he couldn’t say it. Beiste raised her eyebrows, and the word just popped out. “Gay.”  
  
Beiste was quiet for a moment. “I suspected. Thank you for telling me, Dave. That was very brave of you.”  
  
Dave laughed, and could hear the panic just under the surface. “Brave, shit. I feel like my insides are melting.”  
  
“So you can sit here until they stop,” Beiste said. “I won’t tell anybody, Dave. Your secret’s safe with me, for as long as it _is_ a secret.”  
  
“Thanks, Coach,” Dave said, grateful and blinking away tears that had been coming all too fucking often. He was done with crying over this shit.  
  
“Who else knows?” Beiste asked, quietly.

  
“Kurt,” Dave said. “Santana figured it out last year. Kurt’s boyfriend. You.” Dave decided not to mention the bears from Scandals, there were just too many things there that his coach didn’t need to know.  
  
“Dave,” Beiste said, and Dave had to look up. Beiste never used their first names. “Until you tell your parents, or even after, if you need someone older to talk to, I want you to know you can come to me. Even if you just need to hide in my office for a while, understand?”  
  
Dave nodded.  
  
“Good,” Beiste said. “All that pressure’s no good for anybody.”  
  
“Yeah,” Dave said. “And we already know how well I respond to pressure.”  
  
Beiste didn’t answer, but she didn’t have to. She went back to her desk, and opened her playbook once again. “Take a minute to compose yourself before you go shower.”  
  
“Thanks, Coach.” Beiste nodded, and Dave tried to calm his breathing. He wiped his hands over his face. His eyes were probably red, but if he got to the showers quickly enough, he could always say he got soap in his eyes. After a few minutes, Dave stood. He was almost at the door when he stopped; and impulse gripped him and sounded better and better as he thought. “Coach?” Dave asked, turning.  
  
Beiste looked up.  
  
“I wanna try out for Hockey this year,” Dave said. “But the seasons starts during playoffs.” Beiste waved her hand.  
  
“Don’t worry about it. We’ll work around it.”  
  
Dave grinned again. “Thanks, Coach!” Dave slapped the doorjamb as he nearly bounced out of the office.  
  
“You look entirely too happy after that ass-whupping on the field,” Az called to Dave as he passed the lockers. Dave waved him off. He was trying out for hockey. Beiste was going to sponsor the GSA. Dave had _come out_ to Beiste and the world didn’t end. Dave was over the fucking moon. Who cared about practice in the face of that?  
  
Dave started humming under his breath as he peeled off his uniform and pads, and by the time he was in the shower he was singing, bouncing to the beat in his head, and he was glad the showers were empty, because getting caught would be beyond embarrassing, but he wasn’t sure, in this mood, if even that would have stopped him.  
  
***  
  
Dave was, unsurprisingly, the last one out of the locker room, and he was kept humming as he walked out to his truck. The notes died in his throat, however, when he found his way barred.  
  
By Santana.  
  
The Cheerio leaned against the driver’s-side door of his truck, arms crossed and managing to glare and smirk at him at the same time. Dave sighed. After Prom, Santana had pretty much ignored him until mid-summer, when Brittany had gone on vacation with her family. Santana had called him one night, drunk enough to cry, and Dave had talked to her, kept her on the phone as he drove until he found her, alone in a field with a half-empty bottle of tequila and months of self-loathing. He had driven her to a diner, fed her bread and water as she cried about Brittany until three am, when he had dropped her off at home.    
  
He’s thought about calling her after that; they weren’t friends, not really, but they were allies. Had been allies. And that meant _something_. The next time he saw her, she had been at the movies with Brittany, and had looked right past him. And he had remained invisible until the next time she had called him, drunk.  
  
And a pattern had been established; they weren’t friends, but when Santana felt the pressure, Dave was her valve. This was the first time he had seen her sober since Prom. Dave raised his eyebrows at her, and crossed his arms, unimpressed.  
  
“Santana,” Dave said. “I almost didn’t recognize you without your bottle.”  
  
“Cute,” Santana said. “Cubby thinks he can fight with the Big Cats.”  
  
“You know,” Dave said. “They used to stage fights between Lions and Bears out in California during the gold rush. Bears were undefeated. Turns out Lions? Were just big pussies.”  
  
Santana blinked. “How do you know that?”  
  
“I spent a lot of time online this summer,” Dave said. “I had to have something to do in-between looking after your ass.” Santana looked away and Dave felt big for all of three seconds before he felt like a tool.  
  
“Thank you,” Santana said.  
  
“What?”  
  
“I said it once, I’m not saying it again,” Santana said. “You were there for me, more than once, when I needed you. So. You know.”  
  
Dave rolled his eyes. “Yeah. I know.”  
  
“I was wondering if you’d be willing to re-open our arrangement,” Santana said, stepping away from the door.  
  
“What about Brittany?”  
  
“What _about_ Brittany?” Santana snapped. Dave sighed.  
  
“Off-again, huh?”  
  
Santana shifted. “Not--exactly. But--she won’t see anything wrong with it.”  
  
“Yeah, because you’d tell her not to. But _you_ would,” Dave said. “And _I_ would.”  
  
She narrowed her eyes. “You aren’t worried about what they say? Another year in that locker room? Without a girlfriend? Suddenly _not_ picking on the gay kid? You don't have the Bullywhips to hide behind, anymore.”  
  
Dave looked away. Because of _course_ he was worried. He had spent the summer in a place where he was _out,_ and the closet was a lot smaller than he remembered; he was already bursting seams if what happened with Beiste was any clue. But that’s why he and Kurt were forming the GSA; so that when the structural integrity of his closet failed, he had a place to go. Dave bit his lip, wondering when, exactly, he had started thinking of “when” as opposed to “if”.  
  
“I am,” he said. “But...” he let himself trail off. He didn’t owe Santana any more of his secrets.  
  
Santana rolled her eyes. “Don’t tell me this has anything to do with a certain blue-eyed twink, does it?”  
  
“Not everything in my life revolves around Kurt.”  
  
“Bullshit,” Santana said. “But I’ll let you think that, if you really want to.”  
  
Dave glared, suddenly done with this conversation. “I’m serious. You were wrong about me, Santana. I’m not going to be a closet case, and the first step is not taking any backwards steps.”  
  
“Look at you,” Santana said. “You sound like a fucking pride float.”  
  
“You know what? I’m done,” He reached out a hand, and moved Santana to the side. He got in his truck and started the engine. Opening the window, he said, “Kurt and I are starting a GSA here at McKinley, a place where people like us don’t have to be afraid. You should join.”  
  
Santana looked away, and Dave said, “Think about it,” and drove off, wondering where the hell _that_ had come from. He breathed deep, and let it out slowly. Honesty was turning out to be _very_ addictive.


	2. Chapter 2

Dinner that night was quiet, for once. Things between him and his parents had gotten better since his expulsion from and return to McKinley. There was still the Big Gay Elephant in the room, but as long as only Dave could see it, and it didn’t force him to slushy any more freshman, then he was willing to let it stay.  
  
At first, his parents had done nothing but ask him what was wrong, even after he had started seeing Dr. Banks-call-me-George. But as he calmed in the wake of his trips to Scandals, the questions had tapered off. They still asked, but they were more subtle about it, and it was easier for Dave to deflect it. But tonight, for some reason, they decided to leave the questions alone and Dave was grateful. Who knows what he might had said in the mood he was in.  
  
Still, in some ways, the easy days were harder; they made Dave think it would all be okay.  
  
Truth was, Dave didn’t know how they would react. Sure, his father’s reaction to the whole bullying thing, and the way he talked to Kurt and Mr. Hummel, gave Dave hope that, at the very least, Paul wouldn’t _hate_ him. (Then again, it’s always different when it’s _your_ kid, isn’t it).  
  
But his Mom--well. He just hoped his mom would surprise him.  
  
“You looking forward to school, Davey?” his mom asked. Dave tried not to roll his eyes; his mother was the _only_ one who still called him “Davey” and he _hated_ it. He nodded, mouth full.  
  
“Of course he is. It’s his senior year, and the Titans are looking at a great season.”  
  
“Coach is sure, anyway,” Dave said. “She’s been good for the team.”  
  
“Hm,” His mother said. Dave gripped his fork tightly and forced himself to loosen his grip. His mother’s opinion on Coach Beiste was known (“It’s just not right, a woman coaching boy’s football. And such a _man-ish_ one that that--” “Marie...” “I’m just saying.”), and decided by mutual agreement, to be left unsaid.  
  
“Better than that Tanaka fool, anyway,” Paul said.  
  
“She pays attention to us,” Dave said, ignoring his mother’s snort. “She said she can even arrange things so I can play hockey again this year.”  
  
“That’s great news!” Paul said.  
  
“But I thought you hated hockey?” his mother said. Dave and Paul frowned at her.  
  
“No,” Dave said. “I love hockey. I just didn’t think I could play both last year, and Az convinced me to try out for football.” It didn’t hurt that the hockey team was almost as low as the glee club, something about those mullets, and Karofsky couldn’t be that low, not with so much at stake.  
  
But David-- David, who sometimes went by Cubby, and was starting a GSA with Kurt, and liked old music and sometimes sang in the shower, and really kinda missed the rush from that half-time show, and was _so very different from Karofsky the bully,_ \--well. David could play hockey.  
  
“Oh,” she said, and looked down at her plate.  
  
“And that’s not all,” Dave said, staring at his mashed potatoes. “Kurt Hummel and I are starting a Gay-Straight alliance at school. Coach said she’d be willing to sponsor.”  
  
“A what?”  
  
“I think it’s a fine idea,” Paul said. “Make sure there’s no repeats of last year.”  
  
“Exactly,” Dave said.  
  
“I don’t see why you need a club for _one kid,_ ” she said, and Dave felt his heart pound. “There’s no need to rub it in everybody’s face.”  
  
“It isn’t just one kid,” Dave said.  
  
“I wasn’t aware there were any other queers at your school.”  
  
“Marie,” Paul said.  
  
“What?” she said. “‘Queer’s’ not a bad word. They use it on television all the time; _Queer Eye for the Straight Guy,_ remember?”  
  
“It is when you use it like that,” Dave said quietly, still not looking up.  
  
Marie frowned at him. “You used to have a sense of humor, Davey.”  
  
“All right,” Paul said. “There’s no need for this. Starting a GSA was part of the terms of your return to McKinley, isn’t that right Dave?”  
  
“Yeah,” Dave said, swallowing hard. It felt like lying, but there was no _fucking_ way he was going to tell them the truth. Maybe after _never._  
  
“So, let’s just finish dinner, shall we?”  
  
“Fine,” Marie said, standing. “I’m done anyway,” and took her plate into the kitchen. Paul wiped a hand over his face, covering his eyes. Dave forced himself to eat another helping of cold potatoes.  
  
***  
  
 _You ever notice summer gets shorter every year?_  
  
David smiled at his phone. It turned out that Kurt was an avid texter, and Dave was getting used to little messages throughout the day.  
  
 _too long and never long enough_  
  
 _You’re a poet, David._  
  
Dave snickered. _u ready for tomorrow?_ Dave sent, laying back on his bed and looking up at the ceiling. Maybe he should put a poster up or something. He certainly spent enough time staring at it. He wondered, idly, if it would be worth it to put up a poster of some shirtless prettyboy, just to watch his mother freak.  
  
Yeah, no.  
  
 _You mean my triumphant return to those hallowed halls? The real question is, Is McKinley ready for me?_  
  
 _yep. lying in wait with slushies_  
  
 _Buzzkill. *sigh* The welcome back slushy certainly does put a damper on my returning wardrobe.  
  
u could wear a raincoat  
  
Bite your tongue! :P_  
  
Dave almost typed, “ _You want to bite it for me?_ ” before he caught himself. He wasn’t going to flirt with Kurt. Their friendship was still way too new, too tentative. And if he was going to flirt with a boy, especially one with a boyfriend, he sure as hell was going to be a lot smoother than _that._  
  
 _u still talkin to ms p tomorrow?  
  
Yes. Did Coach Beiste approve the posters?  
  
yep. we can pick them up after 1st period  
  
Excellent! Are you ready?  
_  
And that was the question, wasn’t it.  
  
 _we’re doing it i have to be_  
  
The phone rang, and Dave looked at it, surprised. This was the first time Kurt had ever called him. He answered.  
  
“Hey.”  
  
“David, if you’re not ready, we can--”  
  
“No,” Dave cut him off. “No, we’ve been planning this. It’s a good idea. You need it, I need it, and--and others might need it to. We’re doing it. I’m just--,” Dave laughed, self-deprecatingly, “a scared little boy.”  
  
“Shut up,” Kurt snapped. “Don’t say--don’t throw thoughtless words that were said _in fear and anger_ around as if they actually meant--you are brave, David. You’ve embraced yourself, and are working, actively working, toward _being true to yourself in public._ ”  
  
David was silent, breath heavy. He had to say something. “I am scared, though.”  
  
“Everyone gets scared, Dave. The trick is doing your own thing anyway. Never let ‘em see you sweat.”  
  
Dave shook his head. “You’re never scared.”  
  
“Ha!” Kurt barked. “Dave--I spend half my waking hours terrified, and probably will until I move out of this two-bit loser town. You’ve seen me scared,” and Dave closed his eyes at that, because how could Kurt be so casual about--, “but I refuse to give them the satisfaction.”  
  
“I get that,” Dave said. “I do, but--” He sighed. Here it was again, that feeling that he was moving, too slow, that his fear was holding him back too far, that he was never going to get there, never going to be out--  
  
“Does this have anything to do with Santana?”  
  
Dave blinked. “What?”  
  
“Santana left a message on my phone. I’m not sure entirely what she said, she’s fast when she speaks Spanish, but there was something about shaving her beard. I assumed she was referring to you, but--unless you’ve decided to take up waxing?”  
  
“What? No,” Dave laughed. “Why would I--? She asked me to ‘date’ her again at school. I said no. Told her to join the GSA with us.”  
  
Kurt snorted. “Oh,  bet that went over well.”  
  
“About as well as you’d expect, but I left with my balls intact, so I’m counting it a win.”  
  
“Good call.” Kurt said.  
  
Dave picked at a loose thread on his blanket. “I am going to be okay, tomorrow. If it gets to be too much, I can always hide in Coach’s office.”  
  
“And she’s going to ask questions?”  
  
“Nah, she--” Dave froze. “Shit, did I--I didn’t tell you.”  
  
“Tell me what?” Kurt asked, sounding apprehensive.  
  
“I told her. That I was--that I’m gay.”  
  
“Shut up,” Kurt said, but he sounded more like Regina George from _Mean Girls_ \--shut up. That movie was hilarious. There is no shame in liking _Mean Girls._ Besides, Aaron was hot. It was more like Kurt was excited for Dave. “You did not.”  
  
“Yeah, I did. It was kinda by accident, while I was asking her about the GSA. After I calmed down from my near panic-attack, she was real cool about it.”  
  
“David, that’s wonderful. Each person you tell is a step towards freedom.”  
  
“Yeah,” Dave said. “And each person is another risk that I could be outed before I’m ready.”  
  
Kurt sighed. “You are such a pessimist.”  
  
“Realist.”  
  
“Semantics,” Kurt sniffed, but Dave was pretty sure he was getting the hang of reading Kurt Hummel, because that sniff sounded more playful than disdainful.  
  
“Shoot,” Kurt muttered. “I got to go. Finn! Stop that, I’ll be right there!”  
  
“Alright. Meet me at Beiste’s office after homeroom?”  
  
“See you there. Finn! I said put that--” The phone disconnected. Dave looked at it, and chuckled softly. Life with Hudson must certainly be interesting.  
  
***  
  
Dave parked his truck in the lot and turned it off, sitting in silence as he watched the growing crowd of students milling about the high school. It looked staged, like a movie or a TV show; entrance shot: typical teenage high school. It didn’t look _dangerous_. And that was, of course, the most dangerous thing about it; you could never see the threats coming.  
  
Unless, of course, they were wearing letterman jackets and carrying slushies. Then, everyone ran.  
  
Dave shook himself. And he had thought Kurt was a drama queen. He got out of his truck, settling his jacket around himself like armor. He could see a group of jackets by the dumpsters, and for a moment felt a spike of fear that it was Kurt--but no, it was only Jewfro.  
  
Dave paused. As a former bullywhip, and, well, former bully, he should probably step in and stop the early morning dumpster-dive.  
  
But he really hated that kid. The annoying little shit had a future as a tabloid paparazzo, and a love of exposing secrets that tipped the balance from “lack of morals” to “pathological.”  
  
Either way, it was out of his hands. He hesitated, Jewfro ended up in the dumpster, and Dave pushed on into the school, head down.  
  
Whatever hopes Dave had had of getting through homeroom without talking to anybody were shot as soon as he passed through the front doors.  
  
“Fucker, where you been?” Az called down the hall.  
  
“Language, Mr. Adams,” Principal Figgins said.  
  
“Oh, my bad,” Az said, and slung an arm around Dave’s shoulders. Dave tried not to tense, but there was something--not menacing, not really, but suspicious, about the way Az had grabbed him. And there it was, the blind panic of _oh shit, he knows,_ but he pasted on a smile for Figgins, and let Az lead him down the hall.  
  
“Question stands, fucker. You’ve been gone lately, man.”  
  
Dave shrugged. “I don’t know what you mean.”  
  
Az shifted his walk, moving Dave until Az had him pushed up against the wall. It wasn’t the first time, and Dave knew he could easily get away if he wanted to, but he just stood there, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Az poked his chest.  
  
“You don’t wanna say, fine. Say you don’t wanna say. But don’t you fucking lie to my face.”  
  
Dave looked away, and sighed. “Fine. Its nothing, okay? I just haven’t felt very social recently, that’s all. And I really don’t wanna talk about it.”  
  
The warning bell rang, and Az backed away. “All right,” Az said. “All right.” He rolled his shoulders. “Later, fucker.”  
  
“Later,” Dave waited until Az was gone before he entered his homeroom.  
  
Santana had been in Dave’s homeroom for all four years, but this was the first time she had saved a seat for him--well, the first time since their “breakup” after Prom. Dave raised an eyebrow at her, but as in the seat.  
  
“The answer’s still no,” Dave said in greeting. Santana rolled her eyes.  
  
“I’m not interested,” She snipped. Dave smirked.  
  
“That’s not what you said the other day.”  
  
Santana glared at him, but Dave was used to Santana’s glares, and this one was missing its usual heat. “Please,” she said, looking him up and down. “You know you want to get with this.”  
  
“Oh yeah,” Dave said, deadpan. “You’re the only woman for me.”  
  
“And don’t forget it.” Santana arched an eyebrow at him, and Dave had to fight to keep from smiling.  
  
“Oh, don’t worry. I--”  
  
“All right, class,” Mrs. Green said. “I’m passing out your schedules. Please take only yours.”  
  
Santana rolled her eyes. “What does she think we’re going to do with someone else’s schedule?” she muttered.  
  
“Year long senior prank?” Dave said, “Identity theft? Paper mache?”  
  
“Paper mache?”  
  
“Don’t mess. You know you’re jealous of my mad macrame skills.”  
  
Santana snorted. “Yeah. Green.”  
  
So, of course, when the schedules came around, Santana snagged hers and Dave’s before handing the rest back. Dave rolled his eyes, and grabbed at it half-heartedly. Santana held it away, looking over it with a low whistle.  
  
“AP Calc II, AP Physics, and _Honors English?_ Who are you?”  
  
Dave half-stood and snagged the paper back. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dave said, sitting back and smoothing out the paper. His grades had returned with the BullyWhips, and, to be honest, his father had pulled some strings to get Dave into the classes he was “supposed to be in.” Calc II and Physics weren’t a problem, numbers were easy, but _Honors English?_  
  
“Fuck me,” he muttered under his breath.  
  
“Sure, but fair warning--my dick’s rubber.”  
  
“No thanks. I make it a policy not to date chicks with bigger balls than me.”  
  
The bell rang and Dave stood. He was lucky, he had history first, and the classroom was right next to the hallway to the gym, so he should be able to meet Kurt and not be too late to class.  
  
Santana followed him out, tossing a “later, loser,” over her shoulder. _Whatever_. Dave shook his head. _Crazy_.  
  
Kurt was standing in the hallway, bag over his shoulder and staring down at the phone in his hands and Dave took a moment to wonder that Kurt was waiting for _him_ , then he got close enough to see Kurt’s face and--he looked so fucking _melancholy_. Dave frowned. There was something very wrong about a melancholy Kurt.  
  
“Hey,” Dave said. Kurt started and looked up. He smiled with a sigh, hand covering his heart.  
  
“David,” Kurt said. “I didn’t see you there.”  
  
Dave shrugged. “You alright?” he asked.  
  
“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s nothing,” Kurt said. “Let’s get those posters, shall we?”  
  
Dave watched Kurt’s face for a moment, but whatever it was, Kurt wasn’t going to be talking about it. At least, not to _him_ , anyway. So, he just nodded and lead the way into Beiste’s office.  
  
She smiled up at them when Dave knocked. Dave could just feel Kurt hovering, and he rolled his eyes. “You here for the posters?” Beiste asked.  
  
“Yes, Coach,” Dave said. She nodded towards a box that was sitting on one of the chairs.  
  
“It should all be there.” Dave nodded, and Kurt dove at the box with an excited little bounce. Whatever had him down apparently couldn’t keep him down for long. Kurt pulled out one of the posters and unrolled it.  
  
“Oh, David, they’re perfect.”  
  
“Yeah?” Dave asked, and stepped forward to look. Kurt tilted the paper toward him.  
  
The posters were printed on glossy paper, one for each of the three billboard that had glass covers. There were six stylized figures, each in a different color of the rainbow, and showed three pairs all holding hands; two boys, two girls, and a boy and a girl. The print read: “Join McKinley High’s Gay-Stright Alliance: Together We Can Stop The Hate.” At the bottom, it said to contact Coach Beiste, Kurt Hummel, or David Karofsky for more information. Dave felt a little thrill of fear at the sight of his name surrounded by rainbows, but nodded. The posters looked good. He looked in the box. There were several flyers in pale lavender; they would tape some up and keep some to pass out--or use to replace the ones that were defaced. There were buttons and stickers, and a small pile of cards that had upside down pink triangles and the words “safe space” printed on them.  
  
Dave looked up at Beiste, and noticed one of the cards was already pinned to her corkboard. Dave nodded and picked up the box. “We’ll get these up,” he said. She nodded at them and they left her office.   
  
“I’ve got history next,” Dave said. “But my study hall is right after.”  
  
“Oh, mine too,” Kurt said. Shall we wander the halls then?”  
  
Dave nodded. “Yeah, sounds good.”  
  
“Do--” Kurt hesitated. “Do you want me to take the box? I’m going to get far more looks than you are.”  
  
Dave thought about it. It was tempting, but--well--his name was already all over everything. It’s not as if nobody would find out that he was involved. “Nah,” he said. “I gotta get used to it sometime. Thanks, though.”  
  
Kurt nodded. “Well, I should get to French. Salut!”  
  
“Yeah, see-ya,” Dave said, and walked into his history class.  
  
The worst part about being last was the lack of seating. Usually, if Dave was late, he was stuck in the very front. But Mr. B was young and hot and the front couple rows were filled with dreamy-eyed Cheerios and the few brainiacs that were able to beat out teenage hormones. Which meant Dave had a seat in the back. Next to Azimio, who raised a hand in greeting when Dave entered. Dave froze, just for a moment, hands suddenly damp against the cardboard. He shifted his grip just slightly, praying he wouldn’t drop the box and spill _evidence_ everywhere and--  
  
Dave sat next to Az, putting the box down on his other side, and raising his hand to meet Az’s fist bump.  
  
“What is all that shit?” Az asked, leaning closer as Mr. B started to talk about the coming year, turning to write “key phrases” or some shit on the board.  
  
“Stuff,” Dave said.  
  
“No shit, fucker. _What_ stuff.”  
  
“Posters ‘n’ shit.”  
  
Dave looked over at Az; Az had leaned back in his seat, and was staring at Dave, unipressed. “You are tighter than Fort Knox sometimes, you know that?”  
  
Dave snorted; well he’d have to fucking be, wouldn’t he? He had to keep a lid on everything, even when he felt blown open and exposed for everyone to see.  
  
“I’m an open book, man.”  
  
“You’re a fucker, ‘swhat you are.”  
  
“Takes one, fucker.”  
  
Az snorted, but dropped it. Dave knew he wasn’t getting past this class without Az finding out, but fuck if he was going to try to explain that he was starting a GSA with Kurt Fucking Hummel in the back of his History class.  
  
Sure enough, as soon as the bell rang, Az was in Dave’s space, trying to look in the box. “Dude,” Dave said, pulling the box away. “Not here.” Already there were students trying to come in; they looked smaller than Dave remembered them ever looking; Freshmen. He didn’t remember his class being that small when he was a Freshman; even Hummel, who had been so young for so long, was larger in his memory than these kids, had been an equal on some level. Fuck, some of them were tiny. Already Dave was feeling a little better about the box in his hands, if it would help protect some of them from monsters like he--like he _had_ been. And maybe it would help them from becoming him, in the same way.  
  
He lead Az out into the hall, and down towards the gym, ducking into an alcove and waiting for Az.  
  
Az grabbed one of the flyers out of the box before Dave could say anything, reading aloud: “Join the McKinley High Student Gay-Straight-Alliance...what the _fuck?_ ” Dave raised his eyes and Az looked again. “Contact...David Karofsky.” Az looked up. “I repeat. What. The fuck.”  
  
“I’m helping Hummel start a GSA here.” Dave said, and braced, but Az didn’t say anything, just stared at Dave for a long moment.  
  
“You going fairy on me, Big D?” Az asked, voice only mostly joking, and Dave felt his heart freeze. He forced a sneer, and took the flyer back.  
  
“Shut up, fucker,” Dave said.  
  
“No, no,” Az said. “You--this is like that Bully Whips shit, isn’t it?”  
  
Dave thought about saying no. For just one brief moment, he thought about telling Az everything, but faced with the actual possibility--he just nodded, because in a way, yeah, they were similar. Both were doing a good thing for selfish reasons, and both were, technically, stipulations for his return to McKinley. Not that Dave thought they’d kick him out now, if they didn’t do the GSA, but still.  
  
“You see why I don’t want this shit getting around more than it has to, right?” Dave said, and the words felt heavy in his mouth, foreign and sour like dirty pennies.  
  
“Yeah, yeah,” Az said. “I get it. Not fair to commit social suicide because the school tells you to.”  
  
“You could come,” Dave said, acting on a sudden impulse. “If we get enough of the top of the school, the club could start off higher on the food chain.”  
  
Az snorted. “Yeah, right. Fuck, no.”  
  
Dave rolled his eyes, at once relieved and disappointed and feeling his old friend paranoia waving to him from the sidelines. Without Az there, Dave could probably be more of himself. But--if Dave ever wanted to come out, there was no way Az-as-he-was would accept that. Sometimes, Dave felt there was a ravine between him and Az that only he could see, and every time Az said something, or did something, that reminded Dave of whom he had been, Dave felt that chasm groan wider.  
  
“Well,” Dave said. “I gotta get these up, so--”  
  
“Yeah, yeah,” Az said, backing away. Dave walked away to meet Kurt, wondering when his life turned into an After School Special.  
  
Once again, Dave found Kurt watching his phone as he waited, waiting for a text, probably. Most likely from his boyfriend. His boyfriend who had school with Popped-Collar. Fuck me, I don’t need this drama, Dave thought and stopped next to Kurt.  
  
Kurt didn’t startle this time, just looked up at Dave with a half-hearted smile. “You ready?”  
  
“I carry, you tape?”  
  
“Works for me,” Kurt said, and they headed towards the main entrance and the first of the three glass cases.  
  
“So I talked to Finn,” Kurt said as they walked. “I told him that, as my brother, he was required to come to the meetings. He said he thought he could get the rest of the Glocks on board. Rachel will be there, and the rest of the girls in Glee will probably follow. The only one I’m not sure of is Santana.”  
  
“Yeah, I dunno,” Dave said. “She didn’t seem too keen in homeroom.”  
  
“Hmm,” Kurt said. “Did you talk to anybody about it?”  
  
“What, the club? Yeah.”  
  
“Who?”  
  
“Az.”  
  
“Oh,” Kurt said, an odd note in his voice. “Did you...?”  
  
“No,” Dave said. “But he asked, and I let him assume I said ‘no’. I told him to come, I told him it was to get the popular kids in, but really, if I’m gonna come out...”  
  
“And he said no.”  
  
“ _Fuck_ , no.”  
  
Kurt squeezed Dave’s forearm, like Dave had done at the Lima Bean, and Dave felt his ears flush. “I’m sorry, Dave,” Kurt said. “It’s hard when you can’t count on your friends.”  
  
Dave pulled away, because _who said that_ , but more because it was _true_ and _fuck_. He had no idea how Ax would react other than _badly_ and--  
  
And Kurt was watching him with wide eyes as Dave slowly crushed the box. Dave sighed, forcing himself to relax his arms. “Yeah,” he said, quietly.  
  
Kurt started to talk as they walked, and kept up a gentle stream of words and inconsequential topics in between taping flyers to the walls, asking Dave how practices were going (fine), if he saw any good movies over the summer (Captain America was pretty badass, but the new Conan sucked), and how he liked his schedule for his final year.  
  
“It’s alright,” Dave said. “I don’t know how I ended up in _Honors English_. I feel like I can barely speak it, some days.”  
  
“Honors--with Mrs. Finch?”  
  
“Yeah,” Dave said. “You too?”  
  
“Yes,” Kurt said. “Good grades in English are important when pursuing an Arts degree.”  
  
“Oh,” Dave said. “Where you thinking of looking?”  
  
“NYADA in New York,” Kurt said, and fuck if he didn’t just light up when he said that. “They have the best musical theatre program in the country, and I will get in.” Kurt turned a bit fierce at that, and Dave raised his eyebrows.  
  
“I don’t doubt that, Fancy.” Dave froze--the name just slipped out, but Kurt just stuck his tongue out at him, and taped another flyer to the wall.  
  
“If you’re going to tease--”  
  
“No, no. I mean it,” Dave said. “You’re, like, crazy talented. And if anyone has what it takes to get out of Lima, well...”  
  
Kurt was giving him that look again, like Dave had done something unexpected. “Thank you, David.”  
  
Dave shrugged. “I don’t know what i’m going to do,” Dave said. “I was thinking something with sports, like, management or something. I’m good on the field and on the ice, but I don’t think I’m professional player material.”  
  
“Well,” Kurt said. “Can you think where you’d like to be in, oh, ten years?”  
  
Dave shrugged. “I haven’t really gotten past ‘not here’, you know?”  
  
Kurt smiled. “Well--no. I’ve had my dream for so long, but--yes. I know.”  
  
They finished the posters just before the period ended, and Dave offered to run the rest of the stuff back to Beiste’s office for safekeeping. Kurt waved him off, however, taking the box, saying he had class that way anyway. Kurt smiled his goodbye and was gone just as the hallway started to fill and Dave made his way to his next class.


	3. Chapter 3

The rest of the day was--uneventful. He had Spanish with Senor Shuester, which was probably why he didn’t know any Spanish come to think of it, and AP Physics and AP Calc II went without a hitch, even if that wheelchair kid did give him a funny look. But the kid had spent most of his time staring at Puckerman, who was asleep at his desk already, too-long mohawk flopping over his head. Even English, his last class, passed mostly uneventfully. He was one of the first ones there, and claimed the desk in the farthest corner from the door and put his head down. The room filled around him, and he was barely listening to the chatter of people still catching up from the summer when he heard Kurt and Mercedes enter the room.  
  
Dave didn’t look up, not expecting them to sit anywhere near him. So when he heard Kurt’s voice suddenly from the seat next to him, Dave cracked an eye open and peered at the other boy though his arms. Kurt was sitting in his seat, pulling out a notebook, ignoring Mercedes’s look of “are you kidding me?” Dave laughed quietly, because  _really_.  
  
“Uh, Kurt?” Mercedes said. “What are you doing?”  
  
“Getting ready for class like the _honors_ student that I am.”  
  
Dave had to hide a smile, however rueful it was. He knew better than anybody that sometimes it didn’t matter how friendly you were, there were people you didn’t sit with.  
  
“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”  
  
“I know no such thing.”  
  
“Yeah, you do,” Dave said, speaking into the desk.  
  
“You, shush,” Kurt said. “You don’t get a say in this.”  
  
Dave had to lift his head for that, because _what?_ Kurt was giving him epic bitchface, though, so Dave just rolled his eyes and sat up, slouching back in his seat. He shifted, trying to get comfortable but the fucking desk was too small. They never built these things with football players in mind.  
  
“Well, I got a say in this, and I’m sayin’ why?”  
  
“Because David is my friend, and for my magical senior year, I’d like all of my friends to get along.” Kurt paused. “Or, at least, not cause a scene on the first day of class.”  
  
“I’m good,” Dave said, looking up at Mercedes. Mercedes stared down at Dave, and even after dealing with Az’s sisters for years, not to mention not flinching in the face of Santana’s special brand of crazy, Dave had to fight not fidget.  
  
“Tsk, _fine,_ ” Mercedes said, and sat on Kurt’s other side with a humph. Kurt looked sidelong at Dave with a superior little smirk on his face. Dave put his head back down, and listened with half an ear while their teacher talked about reflecting on their true selves and the human condition or some shit like that.  
  
Mrs. Finch stopped teaching about ten minutes before the final bell, giving her students “time to digest the day.” Mercedes wasted no time, chasing the student in front of Dave out of his chair, so she could sit and glare at him. Dave leaned back.  
  
“What?” he said.  
  
“What’s this I hear about you and my boo starting a GSA here at McKinley?”  
  
“I dunno,” Dave said, as Kurt hissed _Mercedes!_ “What’d you hear?”  
  
“Don’t play smart with me, boy,” Mercedes said. “I will win.”  
  
Dave rolled his eyes. “Yes. We’re starting a GSA. No it is not a stunt. First meeting is next week. We’ll see you there.”  
  
“Damn straight, you’ll see me there.” Mercedes said. “I can’t figure you out, you know?”  
  
Dave shrugged. “Not much to figure.”  
  
Mercedes snorted. “Now that’s a lie,” she said.  
  
“What happened to my friends getting along?” Kurt asked the air in front of him.  
  
Mercedes pursed her lips, but backed off, still shooting _looks_ at Dave, but also looking a bit contrite. Dave took a deep breath, and forced his shoulders to relax.  
  
“Kurt suggested the club last year,” Dave said quietly. “I ran into him over the summer and he brought it up again. It--sounded like a good idea.”  
  
“It is,” Kurt said, and Dave nodded, because he knew that. He looked back up at Mercedes, who still looked skeptical, but the heat was gone.  
  
“Yeah, it is,” Mercedes said. “It’s about time.”  
  
“Past time,” Kurt said.  
  
 _And how,_ Dave thought.  
  
***  
  
Practice was practice. He and Az dominated on the field, like always, and Dave was in good spirits, joking and roughhousing as they returned to the locker room, filthy with dirt and sweat. Some days, Dave couldn’t find an excuse to wait for a shower, and ended up with everyone else.  
  
Usually, he just grit his teeth, looked at the floor, and tried to shower as quickly as possible. He was pretty sure the other guys thought he was just shy about being naked. It wasn’t entirely a lie--he always had been the little fat hairy kid; puberty had hit him like a ton of bricks before they were out of middle school, something Hudson didn’t usually let him forget. And yeah, he was thick, lacking the sculpted muscles of Sam, or Puck, or Mike. But his summer at Scandals had given him a new appreciation of the form he _did_ have; there was nothing like getting hit by attractive guys, even if he never took them up on their offers, (Call him romantic, he wanted his first time to mean something). He was solid, stronger than anyone but Az, and trim without being skinny. And to be honest, he had one of the biggest dicks on the team. That usually prevented a lot of the ribbing. And what it didn’t, well, whatever. My dick is bigger. Your argument is invalid.  
  
After practice, Dave followed Az back to his place and they played Left 4 Dead 2 until Dave had to go home for dinner. Dinner was quiet; his parents were fighting again and were too preoccupied in their stalemate to pay Dave much attention at all. Which was perfectly fine with Dave. After dinner, he went up to his room, and fucked around on the internet, watching amateur jackass videos and laughing as the “stars” fell off roofs and were shot with balls and BBs and other projectiles that always hit them in the nuts.  
  
Dave went to bed that night, thinking maybe, just maybe, they’d be able to pull this off.  
  
***  
  
Of course, the next day, Dave found Kurt tearing down the flyers.  
  
“You okay, Fancy?” Dave asked. Kurt spun, shoving the flyers in Dave’s face.  
  
“Do I look like I’m okay?” Kurt snapped. “Look what they--this is _exactly_ why this club is needed.”  
  
Dave snatched the flyers from Kurt and spread one out. His breath caught, and he let out a shaky sigh. Somebody gotten creative with a sharpie. It was something different on each flyer--a cartoon dick here, a slur there, and though they were all done with the same style pen, there only seemed to be a few minds behind the damage. Kurt was still ranting.  
  
“How are we supposed to make this place safe--safe enough so that people can come forward, even if it’s just to the club--if they see this in the hallway? I--”  
  
“Fancy,” Dave said, and grabbed Kurt’s shoulders. Kurt stilled. “Kurt,” Dave said. “This is why we have extra flyers. Why don’t you take down the rest, and I’ll start replacing them, okay?”  
  
“Okay,” Kurt nodded. “Yeah that a good--don’t give them the satisfaction. The tear us down, we get back up.”  
  
“Uh, right,” Dave said, and for the second time in two days, went to Coach Besite’s office to grab the flyers. He started near the gym, taping a new flyer where the old ones stood, trying to follow Kurt’s path the best he could. He was just taping one up near the homecoming trophy case, when he heard the electronic squeal of a megahorn turning on and off behind him.  
  
“Hold it right there, Teddy Ruxpin.”  
  
Dave spun, and saw Coach Sylvester at the other side of the hall, bullhorn in hand, and determined glare firmly in place. She--it wasn’t a walk. It was more predatory than that. She _stalked_ forward, and it was all Dave could do not to back up against the wall. Sylvester reached out, and plucked a flyer from Dave’s hand. She looked it over with look on her face that was either a sneer, or the need for glasses. Dave was pretty sure it was both.  
  
“So,” she said. “You and Porcelain are starting a support group.” She looked over Dave. “It was his idea,” she said. “Don’t bother denying it.”  
  
Dave shook his head. Everyone knew the best way to deal with Sylvester’s attention was to do whatever she said.  
  
“You’ve changed, Paddington,” Sue said. “And if I hadn’t had my heart surgically replaced by one of vibranium alloy two weeks ago, it would be warmed by your sudden growth into something that might, one day, resemble something vaguely human.”  
  
Dave wasn’t sure, but he might have just been compliments. “Thank you, Coach,” Dave said, deciding to hedge his bets.  
  
“That being said. If I hear you’ve laid one unwelcome paw of Porcelain’s buttermilk-fine skin, I will personally see that my band of guerrillas freedom fighters relocate you in the Florida Everglades in several tiny pieces.”  
  
Dave flushed with anger. He knew why everybody assumed the worst about him, but really? Wasn’t this taking it a little too far?  
  
“Sue Sylvester does admit that she plays favorites, as only Sue Sylvester’s favorites are worth any time at all, and Porcelain has deemed himself more worthy than most.  
  
“And, of course, I will be warning Porcelain about his tongue; sometimes I’m surprised he can talk, it’s so sharp.” At Dave’s look of surprise, Sylvester added. “You two boys have been through enough together to know exactly where each other’s weak points are; you could easily tear each other apart.” Sylvester stepped back. “Now go forth, Baloo, and do Sue Sylvester proud.”  
  
Dave nodded, “Yes, Coach,” and was halfway to the next poster before he stopped, and turned. “Coach,” he asked. “The names?”    
  
Sylvester raised an eyebrow. “You really want to know?” she paused. “Cubby?”  
  
Dave’s eyes widened. “No, Coach. Thank you, Coach.”  
  
Sylvester nodded and walked off down the hall. Dave watched her leave, and tried to remember how to breathe.  
  
***  
  
And really, that was the end of it. Dave wasn’t sure if Sylvester had said or done something to the water supply, to make sure no one bothered him, but whatever it was, the new flyers stayed unmolested and Dave remained hassle free for the rest of the week. For the most part.  
  
Mercedes still looked at him like she was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Az kept giving him pitying looks. Santana still mocked him. Everywhere he turned, it seemed like he saw Sylvester watching him from down the hall, and the Glocks--  
  
The Glocks might have been the weirdest part of it. They all said hi to him now, not like they’re friends, but like they’re letting him know that they’re watching. But it all had a very campy spy-movie quality to it, nothing like Sylvester’s campaign of terror. Like, Dave half-expected to see Hudson and Puckerman peeking around the lockers one day in trenchcoats with those false nose glasses.  
  
Dave sat next to Kurt in study-hall that Friday.  
  
“Did you tell your brother to keep an eye on me, or something?”  
  
“What?” Kurt looked up from his phone, puzzled and a little irritated. He shook his head. “No, what are you talking about?”  
  
“Hudson and his buddies, they’ve been watching me all week, but like, real unsubtle about it. It’d be funny if it wasn’t kinda creepy.”  
  
“Oh, for--” Kurt pinched his nose, sighing. “I’m going to kill him.” Kurt waved a hand at Dave. “I told my Dad about us starting the GSA--he thinks it’s good for you, by the way. He doesn’t know, or at least, I never told him, but--Dad’s real big on second chances. Finn--”  
  
Kurt looked around the room and leaned closer, lowering his voice. “When Finn and Carole first moved in, we were supposed to share a room. In hindsight, it was a terrible idea all around, but Finn freaked about having to share a room with, well, me, and threw the f-word around where my father could hear. Dad kicked him out, said he loved Carole, but he wouldn’t tolerate homophobic attitudes in his house. That was partly why Finn wore that Gaga dress, that one time. He was making amends.” Kurt shrugged. “And after he really kinda failed to stand up for me last year, and get that look off your face, Dave, it wasn’t just you, he’s been overcompensating just a little bit.”  
  
“Oh,” Dave said. “That’s--nice of him.”  
  
“It is,” Kurt said. “It’s nice to know that he cares. But now it’s like he thinks I can’t handle anything on my own and, sometimes, that’s even worse. It’s an extension of the whole ‘Kurt is _very gay_ and must, therefore, actually be a girl’ mentality that they don’t think they still have. They try to get all, I don’t know, _chivalrus?_ But it just comes across as insulting. I mean, just because I’m a fashion trendsetter doesn’t mean I don’t have a dick.” He sighed, “And honestly, I feel like I have a deeper understanding of second wave feminism because of it.”  
  
Dave frowned. “They think you’re a girl?”  
  
“In their defense, I don’t think they’re aware that they think that. They’re aware that their attitudes towards women aren’t really the most forward, but nobody’s bothered to point out to them that their attitudes towards me show that they haven’t really learned anything. They still think of me as a girl, and they still think that’s less than them. So.”  
  
Dave shook his head. “I think I’m still hung up on the girl thing. I mean--yeah, I could see it two years ago, when you were wearing clothes from the women’s department, how they’d think that,” Dave rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “I mean, I did my share of name-calling then, about just that but--you’re very much a boy, Kurt.” _And a hot one, at that,_ he didn’t say. “And it’s just gotten more obvious now that you’re, you know, _taller_.”  
  
Kurt looked a little flushed, and wouldn’t look at Dave, though he was pretty sure that was just to hide the smile. “Thank you, Dave.”  
  
Dave shrugged. “S’truth.”  
  
“I think my repeated claims to be an honorary girl didn’t help my case, however,” Kurt said. “It’s just--I’ve been “one of the girls” for so long; but it’s like I never really had a chance to be “one of the boys”, so--” he sighed. “It’s hard to be part of a group when they look at you like you’re going to _contaminate_ them.”  
  
“Maybe that’s something to address in the GSA, then,” Dave said. “Gender stereotypes.” At Kurt’s look, Dave squirmed. “What? I have Google.”  
  
“I knew that,” Kurt said quickly. Then, more seriously, “I think it’s a great idea.”  
  
“Yeah,” Dave smirked. “I can have ‘em, too.”  
  
Kurt swatted his arm playfully, hand resting on Dave’s forearm just long enough to give a little squeeze before drawing back.  
  
***  
  
Friday was their first away game, and it went like any other, except for when Puckerman realized halfway there that this was _their last first game_ and got all teary.  
  
“Sentimental fool,” Az had grumbled from the seat across from Dave as Finn did his best to comfort Puck without outright hugging him. Now that Kurt had said something, he could see it in the way the glocks acted--like they were all still actively trying to change the way they thought. But Dave knew how deep those thoughts could run, how they could lurk beneath the surface where even you couldn’t see them. Dave shook his head. Kurt was right, again; this GSA would be good for more than just them.  
  
“Fuckin’ faggot hasn’t stopped blubbering for the last twenty minutes,” Az went on, barely trying for under his breath.  
  
“Watch your mouth,” Dave said, distracted, thinking about his talk with Kurt earlier, and how they could make it into a lesson or something. Were they supposed to have lessons? Would a discussion really work? He knew Dr.-Banks-Call-Me-George thought so, otherwise his sessions would be very different.  
  
So, it took Dave a moment to realize Az had gone silent.  
  
“Excuse me?” Az said. “Did you just tell me to ‘watch my mouth’?”  
  
“Uh,” Dave said, thinking. “Yeah.” Dave was very aware, however, how the bus had gone silent.  
  
“I don’t get you, man.” Az said. “Last year you wouldn’t have batted an eye--”  
  
“Last year I got expelled and put into _therapy_ , Az.” Dave snapped. “That’s a damned good sign _something_ had to change.”  
  
“Yeah, man, but _you?_ ” Az shook his head. “Why did _you_ have to change?”  
  
Dave just shrugged. “What else have I got .”  
  
“I just don’t know, man,” Az said, turning away.  
  
Dave rolled his eyes, “Whatever.” But his gut rolled. What if it wasn’t coming out that ruined his friendship with Az; what if it was keeping the secret. What if, no matter which way it went, he was fucked.  
  
He turned towards the window and watched the scenery pass, and tried to put it all out his his mind. He had to get his game on.  
  
By the time they got to Westfield High, Dave was in a weird headspace, one where he wanted to cry and scream and curl up into a little ball and never talk to anyone ever again. But he filed off the bus with his gear, and followed the team into the locker room. He had almost finished lacing up his pads when Chang sat down on the bench next to him.  
  
“I heard you and Az,” Chang said quietly, and Dave jerked his laces a little harder than necessary.  
  
“Yeah? And?”  
  
“Kurt told us about the club,” Chang went on. “We were a little worried you weren’t going to take it as seriously as he was. But that’s not true, is it?”  
  
Dave tied off his laces, and braced his hands on his knees. “And what are you basing that on?”  
  
“I _heard_ you.”  
  
“Yeah, well,” Dave stood and tugged his jersey on. “You and your buddies aren’t exactly subtle with the whole watching thing.”  
  
Chang, surprisingly, rolled his eyes. “You mean Finn and Puck, right? Yeah, they can get wrapped up in their own drama, sometimes. But, they’re just worried about Kurt. They still blame themselves for what happened last year, they feel like they let him down. Like, it was their job to protect him--”  
  
“Stop,” Dave said. “I get it. I’m the big bad man. And yeah, they did fall down; I’ll be the first to admit that what I did to him was fucked up, and never should have gone as far as it had. But don’t for a minute think that Kurt can’t take care of himself. And instead of stalking me in the locker room, maybe you should, you know _talk_ to him. He is supposed to be your friend, right?” He grabbed his helmet. “Good luck out there,” Dave said, and went to wait by the door for Beiste’s pre-game pep talk, leaving Chang on the bench, looking vaguely poleaxed.  
  
Beiste came in a moment later, and then they were on the field and the game was on, and Dave pushed everything away, focusing on this play, and running these yards, and working with the team. At the end of the night, when the Titans walked away with a victory of 21-7, Az slung an arm over his shoulders, riding high, and Dave smiled, laughing along, willing to let it go as if it had never happened, if only for right now.  
  
***  
  
Football practice ran after school Monday, Wednesday, Thursday, with practice on Friday only when the games were on Saturday for the first two weeks, then Monday, Wednesday, Friday after that. Players were encouraged to use the weight room on their days off.  
  
Glee met second to last period every day and Thursdays after school, with occasional Saturday rehearsals that Kurt referred to as “booty bootcamp,” that were, apparently, mostly dancing. These were never during a game, as they were mostly led by Chang, and were used only before performances.  
  
So, the only time when the GSA could meet was Tuesday after school. Beiste had arranged for them to meet in the same room where she taught Freshman Health, so when Dave arrived on the first day, he found himself staring at a poster diagram of male and female reproductive organs with a weird sense of foreboding.  
  
“Oh good, you’re here,” Kurt said behind him, and Dave turned to see Kurt struggling with the box of pamphlets. Dave put the container he was carrying down on a desk, and grabbed the box before it slipped out of Kurt’s hands. He put it on Beiste’s desk, while Kurt inspected the tupperware.  
  
“What’s this?” Kurt asked.  
  
“Cookies,” Dave said. “For the meeting.”  
  
“You--” Kurt looked up at him. “Where did you get cookies?”  
  
Dave shrugged. “Grandma,” he said. It was kinda true. When Dave was younger, and his grandparents were babysitting him more often than not, his Grandmother had taken it upon herself to teach Dave “the three basic skills you need, Davey, to be self-sufficient.” According to Grandma Karofsky, everybody had to know how to sew a button, iron a shirt, and bake a pie. Everything else, she said, could be derived from these three skills. At ten, Gram had brought David into her sewing room and let him practice with scraps of cloth and big colorful buttons. Now, Dave could not only sew a button, but take in or let out his pants, as well as adjust the hems. It came in real handy when he hit his growth-spurt, though if anyone asked, he would deny it. At 14, when his grandfather had taken him shopping for his first suit, Grandpa Karofsky was a tailor, and insisted in his own right that his grandson would always have at least one good suit, Gram had taken Dave into her sewing room again, and showed him how to iron the shirt. Dave didn’t iron much, he hated doing it, but whenever it was needed, he did it himself because he was better at it than his mother. Which was, honestly, another reason why he never really bothered. He didn’t need to fight.  
  
But the baking--When Dave was six, Gram would make cookies and cakes, cupcakes and pies, and always have Dave in the kitchen with her. When Dave was 12, and asked if she could bake him a pie, she said; _it’s time for you to learn,_ and watched as he baked an apple pie from scratch. Ever since then, when Dave wanted cookies or cake, cupcakes or a pie, he would drive the three towns over to his Gam’s kitchen, and bake while she played old records and talked. It was _incredibly_ gay, and nobody knew, not even his parents.  
  
But last night, after practice, Dave had driven his truck over and had baked the cookies, and had told Gram about the GSA during the commercial breaks of Jeopardy.  
  
Gram and Pops had never said anything about Dave’s troubles the year before, had taken the news of his expulsion with somber faces, and put him to work around their house while he was out of school. The guilt had been overwhelming, and when Gram had found him crying in the kitchen over her book of cookie recipes, she had listened to his apologies, told him she loved him no matter what, and they baked lemon squares. When the first batch was in the oven, she turned to him and said:  
  
“Sometimes, it’s hard to look at you and see a young man. My old eyes see my little grandson covered in flour. But today I have seen a glimpse of the man you can become, one who recognizes the consequences of his own actions, and desires to grow and change. I couldn’t be more proud.”  
  
“Gram...”  
  
“It won’t be easy, your road,” She had gone on to say, “You’ve done bad things, and you know it. But nothing so bad it can not be fixed in time.”  
  
He had almost told her right then, that he was gay and was terrified of what his parents would say and even more scared of what would happen at school and that he was all twisted up inside and things just _happened_ when he saw the beautiful boy that was everything he wanted to be, and everything he wanted all at once. But, the buzzer dinged and he took the squares out of the oven, and kept his silence. When he left that day, he hugged his Gram extra tight, and she held back, like she knew there was something, and that she would wait to hear it, as long as it took. The next day, his father got him back into school. Still, Dave found himself at his Gram’s at least once a week, usually after a bad day; mixing and kneading and rolling was sometimes exactly what he needed to bring about some much needed calm.  
  
“What kind of cookies?” Kurt asked.  
  
“Chocolate chip, sugar, and peanut butter,” Dave said. “I figured, first meeting, people might come back if we have cookies.”  
  
“Are you going to bring in cookies every week?” Kurt asked.  
  
Dave shrugged. “Maybe we can set up a thing. Alternate people or something. I just--thought it was a good idea.”  
  
“No, it is,” Kurt said. “Especially if--” Kurt tugged at the tupperware lid and it popped open. He pulled out a chocolate chip cookie and took a bite. “Oh, yes,” he said, almost _moaning_ the word, fuck, “Especially if they’re this good.”  
  
Dave felt his ears flush, and he shrugged. “Thanks.”  
  
“There’s only one problem,” Kurt said.  
  
“Oh?”  
  
“I don’t wanna share,” Kurt clutched the container to his chest, and pouted. Dave laughed, eyes locked on the just of Kurt’s lower lip. _Damnit_.  
  
“Don’t worry. I’ll make you more.”  
  
The lip lowered as Kurt’s mouth opened. “ _You_ made these?” he asked. Dave started. _Shit_. “I thought you said--”  
  
“I did, shh,” Dave looked around but they were still the only ones in the classroom. “Don’t spread it around. I made ‘em at my Gram’s. Everyone thinks she’s this, like, baking fool. But--it calms me down, you know?”  
  
“I know,” Kurt said. “Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me.”  
  
Dave snorted. “Yeah, I’m not worried.” Kurt smiled back and Dave knew it was because, of everything Kurt was keeping secret for Dave, his hidden life as a baker was pretty damn low on the list in order of importance.  
  
But then Besite was there, smiling at Kurt and Dave in her typical gruff way, and the girl from Glee followed, so Dave moved away from Kurt to put the cookies on the desk next to the flyers, and cover his nerves by talking to Beiste. The Glocks followed the Glee girls in, then, surprisingly Coach Sylvester showed up with a number of Cheerios following in V formation. Santana was with them, and she sat next to Brittany, and gave Dave a look that said _the fuck are you looking at?_ Dave hid a smile. He didn’t care why she was there, he was just glad she was. For as understanding as Kurt was, Dave thought Santana _got it_ a little better, by simple virtue of living it. Lauren Pizes was next, with a small group of burly underclassmen that Dave thought might have been on the wrestling team with her. She walked up behind Puckerman, smacked him upside the head, and when he turned, feathers ruffled, she just stared at him until he kissed her cheek. Apparently they were still together. Weird. There were one or two other stragglers, all underclassmen that Dave only vaguely recognized as _yeah, he or she might go to my school. I think._ And finally, Mrs. P and Senor Shue came in, closing the door behind them.  
  
Everyone settled in, and Kurt was getting ready to make introductions when the door opened again, and Brett walked in, looking like he had just taken the blue pill. He saw the cookies everyone was eating, smiled dreamily, and drifted over to grab some for himself. He sat on the floor next to the desk, and munched on his cookies. Dave wondered if he was coherent enough to recognize what club this was, and if not, if he would at least remain docile enough to not cause any problems.  
  
“Okay, then,” Kurt said, and Dave took a deep breath, and went to stand with him. _Time to man up, Dave._ “I’m Kurt Hummel, and this is Dave Karofsky. We’d like to welcome to the first meeting of the McKinley High Gay-Straight Alliance. As the title implies, and I hope you’re aware, you do not have to be gay to be in this club. You can be anything, gay, lesbian, bisexual, pansexual, transexual, questioning, or somewhere in the middle, and be in this club. You can be a straight ally and be in this club. You never have to confirm, deny, or _justify_ your presence in this club. All that is required is a belief that non-cis-gendered, non-hetereosexuals deserve equal treatment as cis-gendered heterosexuals.”  
  
Dave looked around the room at the blank faces. Most, like Puckerman, looked a little bored, or like Brett, too interested in the cookies. Some, like Finn, were nodding along without really understanding what they were nodding for. Dave sighed.  
  
“Or, in plain English, that means that you don’t think someone should be treated less for their sexuality or gender.”  
  
“Exactly,” Kurt said, without breaking stride. “There is a lot of terminology that can be thrown around, with the purpose of being as specific as possible in order to, well, be specific and, in a way, avoid offence, but it boils down to just that: the club is here for equal treatment.”  
  
“In planning this club,” Dave said, “We decided the best place to start would be in creating what’s called a “safe-space”, a place where you can be yourself without fear.”  
  
“We all know how hard it is to be in this school, the cliques, the clubs--”  
  
“The teams and the hierarchy,”  
  
“And we want this club to exist outside of those pressures,” Kurt said. “So, we would like to make it a rule, right here and now, that inside this classroom, during this time, we are not defined by the clubs we belong to, by the sports that we play, but by our desire to end the hate here at McKinley. Are we agreed?”  
  
There were some nods, and Beiste stepped forward with a stack of papers. “For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Coach Beiste. I have, here, contracts for you each to sign, swearing to keep to the rules of this club; that you will keep secrets that are not ready to be shared, that you will treat each other with respect, and that you will do what you can to limit discriminatory behavior and promote equality.” Beiste handed half to Dave and half to Kurt. Dave took one and passed the rest on. He pulled a pen out of the pocket of his letterman and signed his name at the bottom.  
  
“Now,” Kurt said. “Let’s get to know each other. We’re going to go around the room. So please, say your name, your grade, and anything else you want us to know. This is not us fishing for you to come out, especially if you’re not ready. Please, only share what you are comfortable with everyone knowing. Hopefully, as we meet and get to know each other, coming out is something that will happen naturally. I’ll start. My name is Kurt, I’m a senior, and since it’s no secret, I’m gay.” He looked at Dave.  
  
“Uh,” Dave said. “I’m Dave. I’m a senior.”  
  
Unsurprisingly, nobody was volunteering much information. Finn did say he was here to support his brother, Brittany that she liked “boy lips and lady-lips, but Kurt’s lips most of all, because they were soft like lady-lips, but firm like boy-lips,” and Dave had to stop himself from nodding in agreement. Sylvester won for weirdest, however, when she admitted to being “Sue-sexual.” Whatever _that_ was.  
  
“Wonderful,” Kurt clapped his hands, and Dave pulled out a notebook. “Now, since the whole purpose of the club is to create comfort, Dave and I thought we’d taylor the club’s activities to what we, as a club, want. What are some things you want to see happen?”  
  
There was silence for a moment, before the asian chick from Glee, Tara? _Tina!_ raised her hand. “I think it’d be cool if we could have some sort of assembly, you know? Get the awareness we’re generating to the entire school.”  
  
“That’s a great idea, Tina,” Kurt said, and Dave wrote _assembly_.  
  
“Maybe not this week,” Mrs. P said, “Passing assemblies takes time.”  
  
“Maybe we can plan it next week?” Mercedes said. “Figure out what we wanna do before we take it to Figgins.” Dave nodded, writing _plan next week._  
  
“Day of Silence,” someone, Dave didn’t see who, called out.  
  
“National Coming Out day.”  
  
“I’d just want to talk.”  
  
“Myths!”  
  
“We’re doing a day on stereotypes and misconceptions,” Kurt said. “But this is great! What else?”  
  
“One at a time,” Dave said under his breath, finally writing _myths_.  
  
There were a few more suggestions tossed out before they trickled out. “This is wonderful! Anybody else?”  
  
Dave cleared his throat. “I’d like to do something with postsecret,” he said. He looked out. “Uh, those of you who know me, or of me, might know that I’m in anger management, and my therapist turned me onto this site, postsecret dot com?”  
  
“Dude, that site’s badass. There’s some crazy stuff people say,” Puckerman said. Dave was a little surprised he knew the site, but nodded.  
  
“Exactly. It’s all anonymous, but people, like, write their secrets on postcards and send them in and the dude puts them on the site for everyone to see. Because secrets are nothing but pressure, and if you don’t tell somebody, well--it’s a great place if you have no way to vent. And sometimes, just knowing other people have the same secret, makes you feel, I dunno, connected.”  
  
“What kind of secrets?” one of the Cheerios asked.  
  
“Anything,” Dave said. “There’s some sex stuff, like, ‘My parents don’t know I’m gay,’ kind of things, and ‘My husband doesn’t know I’m cheating,” but there’s also things, like, ‘I like to pee in the shower.’ And, some of the secrets can be pretty dark, like, people who’ve thought of killing themselves, or hurting themselves, and the site has connections to, like, suicide prevention and self-help hotlines. And there’s like forums and stuff. It’s a really cool site.” Dave stopped talking and looked around, people were nodding their heads, and this time, it seemed to be because they were on board with the plan.  
  
“That sounds like a great idea,” Beiste said. “What did you have in mind?”  
  
“Well,” Dave said. “Maybe we could get, I dunno, one of the boards or something? And we could set up a box somewhere, maybe Ms. P’s office?” Mrs. P nodded. “And then, the secrets we get in, we could put up on the board.” He paused. “And, if we’re worried about vandalism, we can publish them in a book.”    
  
“And I can provide pamphlets, if necessary,” Mrs. P said. Shue smiled at her in that way adult do when they think they’re being subtle. There was definitely something going on there.  
  
“Great idea, Dave,” Kurt said, quietly. Dave nodded, and wrote _postsecret_ in his book.  
  
Things wrapped up pretty quickly after that, the meeting sliding from something formal into a general gathering. Dave eased over to the desk, taking stock of what was left, and re-writing his notes into something recognizable; he figured Kurt, at least, would want a copy, and he was pretty sure Beiste would need one for her records. A shadow fell over his paper, and he looked up.  
  
“Good work, Yogi,” Sylvester said.  
  
“Uh, thanks, Coach,” Dave said. Sylvester nodded, and left, her Cheerios leaving with her, still in V formation.  
  
“What was that about?” Kurt asked, just behind him. Dave shook his head.  
  
“I don’t think I want to know.”


	4. Chapter 4

Dave left school on Tuesday feeling really good, steps light as he waved goodbye to everyone and climbed into his truck. On a whim, Dave opened his glovebox and dug around for a particular unmarked tape. It was a mixtape his cousin Kevin had given him years ago, before Kevin had enlisted, and it was a mix of ska punk and swing, all bands that had big brass that were big in the mid-nineties, bands like Reel Big Fish, The Brian Stetzer Orchestra,The Mighty Mighty Bosstones, and The Cherry Poppin Daddies. Upbeat music for an upbeat mood, and he sang and long and played drums on the steering wheel as he drove home.   
  
His mom’s car was missing, but his father’s was there, and he called out hello when he entered the house.  
  
“Hey, Dave,” Paul said, walking out of his study. “Your mother’s gone to visit your Aunt Brenda. Apparently the baby’s sick again. So it’s just us tonight.”   
  
Dave grinned. “Pizza and wings?”   
  
Paul nodded. “Game tonight. Cowboys at Bears.”   
  
“Awesome,” Dave said. “Let me put my bag upstairs.”   
  
“I’ll call it in. Meatlovers?”   
  
Dave grinned.  _If only you know._ “Is there any other kind?” He called back.   
  
Later, gorged on pizza and wings and the black and white milkshake his father insisted was delivered by mistake, Dave was fuzzy with good feeling. The Bears were trouncing the Cowboys, and really, it was just sad to watch.   
  
“I’ve missed this,” Paul said as they went to commercial. “The two of us, watching the game. What happened, Davey?”   
  
Dave shrugged. Sports were always their thing, they watched baseball and football and hockey, just the two of them bonding over the sport, from when Dave was four and old enough to watch, until Dave’s freshman year, when becoming one of the cool kids took priority over everything. “Bunch of shit,” he said, at last.   
  
Paul snorted. “You can say that again. I don’t know if we told you, Dave. But it’s good to have you back.”   
  
“I’ve been here,” Dave said. “All along.”   
  
“You were hard to find for a while,” Paul said. “But I know pizza and wings would lure you out.”   
  
Dave laughed. “Yeah. It’s all for the wings, Dad.”   
  
The game started again, and they were distracted for a moment as the third quarter wound to a close.   
  
“Whatever it was,” Paul said. “It’s okay, Davey. You can tell me. You’re my son, and I love you no matter what.”   
  
Dave couldn’t swallow for a long minute. It certainly  _sounded_ like Paul had just told him that he  _knew_ and that it was  _okay_. And--and hearing that...   
  
“I know, Dad,” Dave said.   
  
“Good,” Paul said. Then the TV started to scream and Paul and Dave were on their feet, shouting at the players, the coach, the ref, and the matter was dropped. That night, when Dave was drifting off to sleep, he realized some of his anxiety over telling his parents had disappeared. He slept with a smile on his face.   
  
***  
  
The rest of the week passed in a blur. Santana still mocked him in homeroom, Az still saved him a seat in History, and Kurt still sat in the back with him during English while Mercedes watched him from the corner of her eye. Still, she had warmed from icy to chilly after the meeting. Friday was their first home game, and they started their streak with a win of 14-6.   
  
Saturday night found Dave back at Scandals for the first time since school started. Ted monopolized his attention for most of the night, once he mentioned that one of his classes was AP Physics; turned out Ted had a degree in physics (well, Ted had  _several_ degrees, but one of them was in physics) and appreciated Dave’s “unique approach to the subject matter.” Dave tried to tell him it wasn’t unique so much has half-understood, but Ted had been drinking since Happy Hour, and by that point, there was no reasoning with him.   
  
He told them about the game, and they told him how Steve had won his latest case, then nearly had it thrown out when he was almost caught in the bathroom with the prosecuting attorney. Mike threw in a couple stories from his marriage (a sham marriage to an octogenarian named Gladys. His meeting Ted again was one of the reasons why he was divorced and not a widower), and Mitch countered with some of the crazy tattoos he’d been asked to ink over the years.   
  
At one point, Dave thought he saw Prep School dancing with Popped-Collar, but when he looked around for Kurt and didn’t find him, he told himself it was just wishful thinking. When he didn’t see either of them again, he put it out of his mind.   
  
It was a good night without any drama, and it was good to reconnect with people who knew him and didn’t expect anything of him other than that he be himself. The weirdest part of the evening came right before the end, when Dave asked:   
  
“Does the name “Sue Sylvester” mean anything to you?”   
  
The table got very quiet. “Where did you hear that name?” Steve hissed.   
  
“She’s the cheerleading coach at my school,” Dave said. “She came to the GSA meeting on Tuesday. Called me ‘Cubby’”?  
  
The table remained quiet. Nobody would look at him. He could see a trickle of fear sweat on Mitch’s forehead.   
  
“You know what?” Dave said. “Forget I asked. I don’t think I want to know anymore.”   
  
“Probably for the best,” Mike said weakly.   
  
***  
  
Tuesday Dave drove to school with four fresh pies in the cab of his truck. A repeat of the cookies would probably have been better, but Dave really hated repeating himself. He’d have to remember to set up the snack sign-up this time. He parked his truck and looked at the pies. He sighed. It really was too hot to leave them in the truck. So, he slung his backpack over his shoulders and balanced the pies as carefully as he could.   
  
“Yo D!” Az called out. “Those your Gram’s pies?”   
  
“Hell, yeah,” Dave called back, and slowed his steps until Az caught up.  
  
“So which one’s mine?” Az said, and sniffed at the boxes. “Oh, I smell cherry.”   
  
“They’re for the meeting after school today,” Dave said.   
  
“What? Man, really? That’s cold,” Az said. “Not sharing your Gram’s pie.”   
  
“I’m gonna share,” Dave said. “With the club. You want pie, come to the meeting.”   
  
“I don’t know, man,” Az said. “That’s a high price for pie.”   
  
Dave shook his head. “It’s not as high as you think,” he said. “I’m gonna get these to Coach, see if she knows where we can put them.”   
  
“A-ight,” Az said. “I’ll see you in History.”   
  
“Later, fucker,” Dave said.   
  
Beiste made room for the pies in the teacher’s lounge refrigerator, while Dave stood stiffly in place behind her, weirded out by being in the teacher’s lounge. There were a few teachers there, drinking coffee and clutching their mugs like lifelines, shooting Dave glares like they were about to sacrifice him to some sort of lounge god. Finally, Beiste took the pies from Dave, and put a sign on them, “club use only,” and Dave beat feet.   
  
He almost ran into Kurt right outside the door, stopping himself at the last minute. Kurt didn’t even flinch. He was pale, drawn, and dressed in all black. He wore no embellishments, no accessories, not even a scarf; just a black shirt, black skinny jeans, and boots. Even his hair seemed--flat.   
  
“Oh, God,” Dave said. “Who died?”   
  
“What?” Kurt looked up, slightly confused and a little bleary eyed.   
  
“Okay,” Dave said slowly. “Come on,” he led Kurt into an empty classroom, setting him at a desk. “What happened?”   
  
“Nothing happened,” Kurt said. “Why do you think something happened?”   
  
“You’re not wearing a scarf.”   
  
Kurt’s hand flew to his throat. “Oh,” he said faintly, “So I’m not.” His face screwed up, and just for a moment, Dave thought Kurt was going to cry. But his features smoothed, leaving behind a far older expression that was  _worse_ somehow. “Blaine broke up with me. This morning. Via  _text_. ”   
  
Dave frowned. “That’s a dick move. Why? I thought you two were tight.” Though, now that he thought about it, maybe that  was Prep-School at Scandals the other night. Oh no, did Prep-School leave Kurt for Popped-Collar? Dave felt his hands tightened into fists and forced himself to calm down.   
  
Kurt scoffed. “He said that distance will either make or break a relationship; either you’re strong enough to endure or the separation will make you ‘miss your independence.’ He said he will ‘always care’ but that he’s come to realize that he’s not ready to be ‘tied down in a relationship that wouldn’t make it past High School, anyway.’”   
  
“That is the biggest crock I have ever heard,” Dave said. “And I’ve listened to Puckerman talk about his ‘conquests.’”   
  
Kurt snorted, and gave Dave a tiny smile. He sighed. “The worst part, is that I don’t think he’s really wrong. I mean,  _I_ _want_ the relationship. I’m romantic by nature, I want the romance, the story-book together forever. I want someone to hold my hand and go to dances and come to my shows. And Blaine, apparently, doesn’t,” Kurt looked away. “To be honest, I was starting to doubt Blaine would be my story-book love, anyway.” His expression turned wry. “I can’t exactly see him content to sit in the audience.”   
  
“Well,” Dave shrugged. “Maybe this is for the best?”  _You were always too good for him, anyway,_ Dave didn’t say. He knew that  _that_ would cross some unspoken boundary between them.   
  
“Maybe,” Kurt said. “But it still hurts.”   
  
“Yeah,” Dave said. He leaned over and nudge Kurt’s shoulder with his own. “It’s not ice cream, but I made pie for the meeting.”   
  
Kurt smiled. “Thank you, Dave. I look forward to it. If those cookies were anything to judge by, your pie will be amazing.”   
  
Dave rubbed the back of his neck, ears red. “Yeah, tell me that again once you’ve had a taste.”   
  
Kurt giggled and Dave covered his face with his hand. “I didn’t mean it like that.”   
  
Kurt laughed. “Thank you, Dave.”   
  
“For pie?”   
  
“For making me laugh.”   
  
“Anytime.”   
  
***  
  
Kurt had a warm smile for him in English, and Mercedes gave him a considering once over. Mrs. Finch had determined that they would learn to “fully appreciate the genius of Shakespeare,” by which Dave was pretty sure she meant they would indulge her crush on Kenneth Branagh. They were supposed to be watching  _Much Ado About Nothing,_ and the man himself was on screen, flirt-fighting with Emma Thompson. Keanu Reeves was in it, which was weird, and Denzel Washington, which was alright because, really, the man was hot and they were supposed to be watching, so nobody was going to call Dave out on staring. And it took Dave a moment, but then it clicked that the guy playing Claudio was Wilson from  House,  and he was  hot  when he was younger and yeah, it was pretty official; Dave had a  _type_.   
  
Dave was snickering at Dogberry, thinking of the fool saying  _I’m Batman!_ or  _It’s Showtime!_ because that was Michael Fucking Keaton, and he was the fucking man, when he was hit in the head by a ball of paper. He looked down at the clump on his desk, saw shadows of ink on the paper, and unfolded it. It was from Mercedes; he glanced over and saw her watching him from over Kurt’s back. Kurt, for his part, was leaning forward in his seat, head braced on his palm, eyes full of tears and adoration, enraptured by the movie. Dave shook himself, and read the note.   
  
_I’m still not a hundred percent convinced that you don’t have an ulterior motive,_ it began. Dave rolled his eyes. Of course.  _ But my boy told me you were there for him this morning, and you didn’t have to be. So, this is me saying, officially, that you’re off watch. And thank you. For being there for him.   
  
You break his heart, I break you.   
  
Mercedes <3 _  
  
Dave shook his head, but felt a little warmed by it all the same. He took out a pen, and wrote back:   
  
_ I’d do the same for any of my friends. And I have no intention of breaking anything.   
  
Dave _  
  
Dave folded the paper, and sat back in his seat, using his stretch to lean past Kurt to hand Mercedes the note. He watched out of the corner of his eye as she opened the paper, and read. She arched an eyebrow. She looked up at him, and mouthed,  _Good_.   
  
Dave nodded, and turned back to the television, catching sight of Mrs. Finch’s dreamy expression as he did. He looked back quick at Mercedes, caught her eye, and nodded over at the teacher. Mercedes looked, and bit back a laugh.   
  
Dave grinned. Mission accomplished. He slouched back in his chair and watched the pretty guys on the screen until the bell rang. It wasn’t until Dave got to the meeting that day, and saw Mercedes smile at him, that he realized the implication in her warning. He felt flushed cold. There was  _no way_ Mercedes knew about him, especially not the way his feelings for Kurt seemed to be turning into _feelings for Kurt._ He brushed it off; Kurt would keep her from talking if she did know. Which she didn’t. She had no proof.   
  
Dave sat on one of the desks and watched as the club filled up; it seemed like they had lost one or two people, but for the most part, the number remained higher than he expected. Maybe Kurt was right; he was a pessimist.   
  
Kurt came in then, surrounded by the girls from Glee; to Dave, they looked less comforting and more gossiping, but then, Dave never really got girls. Kurt seemed happy enough where he was, so that was all right, then.   
  
Ms. Pillsbury was the last in, with a large cardboard box decorated with bubble letters cut out of construction paper. It said “Top Secret” on the sides. She brought it over to him.   
  
“David,” she said. “I was thinking about the Postsecret billboard. I was thinking that I could keep this in my office, and students could drop their secrets in this anonymously. Then, the billboard next to my office is mine to decorate. I can put them up once I have enough, and add more as they come in. We can make it a year-long project.”   
  
Dave nodded. “Yeah. That sounds good.” It was all anonymous anyway. “Maybe we can tell people to put their secrets in envelopes, if they’re worried about you seeing which ones they drop off. Maybe make it a thing, like, everyone has to submit one in the next week? Just to start, and it doesn’t have to be anything earth-shattering.”   
  
“That’s a wonderful idea, David,” she said. “You’re good at this.”   
  
Dave smiled and looked down. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be so good at; he was just doing what made the most sense. But he’d take it.   
  
Kurt clapped his hands then, looking as if he had never known heartbreak; he’d even managed to dig up a scarf from somewhere. Either Kurt was a better actor than Dave had known, or those girls had worked some serious magic. Dave listened to Kurt start the meeting, and turned the ballot box over in his hands, wondering just what his first secret was going to be. 


	5. Chapter 5

The week went downhill from there. Dave got home from practice to find his parents fighting over something. Dave didn’t know what they were fighting about, he never did when they went at it with a slow simmer like this; not yelling, not throwing things, just silently hating at each other from across the dinner table.    
  
Dave excused himself as soon as he could and hid in his room. About an hour later, the yelling started, and he winced when he heard something shatter. He put on his headphones and turned the volume up. They did this every couple months; it was best just to keep his head down and ride it out.    
  
Then, Wednesday, he failed the pop quiz in History, because he hadn’t done his homework the night before, hiding from the crazy downstairs.    
  
Thursday the battery in his truck died. He was late to school and missed homeroom and first period.    
  
Friday, he twisted his ankle on the field; nothing serious, but enough to keep him benched for the rest of the game.    
  
Saturday, Dave sat down at his desk, and his computer chair collapsed underneath him.    
  
“Fuck this noise,” Dave said, grabbed his copy of  _Captain Blood,_ and went to the Lima Bean. If anyone asked, it was for school.    
  
He wasn’t surprised, really, when he saw Kurt there. He was surprised that Kurt was by himself, laptop open in front of him. Dave stopped by his table. “Hey.”    
  
Kurt looked up, startled, and smiled. “Dave. Hi! What’re you doing here?”    
  
Dave shrugged. “Had to get out of the house.”    
  
“Oh, I understand that,” Kurt said. “Rachel came over, and was trying to talk Finn into--I don’t even know. I didn’t stick around.” Kurt gestured to the empty chair. “You want to sit?”    
  
“Sure,” Dave said. “Lemmie get a drink.”    
  
Kurt smiled, and Dave went to get coffee. The perky barista (too many free samples, Dave thought), asked if Dave wanted a flavor shot in his drink. On a whim, as it seemed to be the day for it, Dave asked if they had butterscotch. They did, and Dave took his drink to the table, breathing in the sweet coffee scent.    
  
He stopped when he someone in a Dalton blazer talking to Kurt. Popped-Collar.  _Sebastian_.  What kinda douchey school was it, that it catered to jerks with weird names, anyway. Kurt looked bored, but there was a tension there that betrayed something, either hurt or anger, Dave wasn’t sure, but it wasn’t good.    
  
In less than a thought, Dave was there, looming behind Sebastian, using his greater mass to take up as much space as possible. Dave felt a twinge, he wasn’t really used to intimidation anymore, but dammit if he wasn’t going to use his skills for good, now. He knew the minute Sebastian registered his presence, because he froze, just for a minute, like a rabbit in a trap.    
  
Sebastian relaxed his shoulders. “Cubby. I should have known you’d be dancing bear at the end of Gay Face’s leash.”    
  
“I think you should leave,” Dave said, and Dr. Burns-call-me-George would be proud. He didn’t raise his voice at all.    
  
Sebastian scoffed, addressing Kurt. “You going to let this behemoth bully me?”    
  
“Dave’s not the bully here, Sebastian. You are,” Kurt said. Dave resisted the urge to smile. Wasn’t this a turn up for the books.    
  
“At least let me say what I came to say,” he said.    
  
Dave raised an eye at Kurt, who nodded after a minute. “Fine,” he said, and Dave slid into the seat across from Kurt. “I’ve been encouraging Dave’s growing avoidance to violence, but I reserve the right to ask him to beat you bloody.”    
  
Dave grinned, showing his teeth. It felt good to play like this, to not be too afraid to mention his physicality, to let himself be just a little bit rough without having everyone run for the hills, or for his therapist.    
  
Sebastian blinked for a moment, as if  _surprised_ at the display. Either Sebastian was better at reading people than Dave thought, and knew Dave couldn’t really hurt him, or Dave was scarier than he thought. Then, Sebastian sighed.    
  
“I heard Blaine called it off between you, and I wanted you to know I had nothing to do with it.”    
  
Kurt raised an eyebrow. “And why should I believe you?”    
  
“Because,” Sebastian said. “Cubby here can vouch for me, I don’t do commitment.”   
  
“That’s true enough,” Dave said. “You do have a reputation.”    
  
“Thank you,” Sebastian said, as if it was something to be proud of. “But now that he’s not with you, he’s been sniffing around me, and honestly, it’s annoying as fuck. Especially since I can tell he’s only doing it because I’m a threat to his monopoly on solos.”    
  
There was an odd smile on Kurt’s face. “Yes, that is his MO, isn’t it? But why tell me?”    
  
“Because I’m not going to let him win,” Sebastian said. “I’m getting solos, one way or another, and I’d like an ally. The recently wronged boyfriend seemed like the ideal person to ask.”    
  
Kurt snorted. “Can you be any more passive aggressive?”    
  
“Does that mean ‘no?’”    
  
“Hell, no. I’m in,” Kurt said. “We’re going to make sure that Hobbit wishes he had never messed around with one Kurt E Hummel.”    
  
Sebastian held out a hand, and Kurt shook, sealing the deal. Sebastian left after that, walking away with a jaunty salute and a sing-songed “I’ll be in touch.”    
  
As soon as he was out of earshot, Dave said: “Why do I feel like an extra in a Gay production of Faust?”    
  
Kurt waved Dave off. “Please. I hardly think Sebastian has that kind of power.”    
  
“Lets hope not,” Dave said. “I mean, nobody has  _said_ that he has a tail, and with the number of people who’ve seen him naked, you’d think  _somebody_ would have talked.”   
  
“ _David!_ ” Kurt giggled. “That was positively  _catty_. Watch out. You’ll be tripple-snapping soon.”    
  
Dave snorted. “Only if the doctors don’t catch it in time. You can ask for that now, you know--gay screening. I hear they have a vaccine and everything.”    
  
“Oh, I know,” Kurt said. “I get my boosters every six months. None of that gay stuff for me.”   
  
“I can tell,” Dave said. “It’s really working. Just be careful that you don’t relapse. I hear you end up  _even gayer,_ like LIberace meets Sigfried and Roy’s _tigers_ gay.”    
  
Kurt broke, laughing out loud and pressing fingers to his eyes for the tears. “You’re terrible, Dave,” he said, and Dave grinned, opening his book in victory.    
  
Before he could start reading, Dave heard his name called, and when he looked, he saw Az, Strando, and their kicker, Thompson, looking at him.    
  
“Shit,” Dave said under his breath as he raised a hand in greeting. How much did they hear? Could they hear him? Was this it? Did he finally slip up? He felt the fear, but now, also, a strange anticipation. He almost hoped this  was  it. At least then the waiting would be over.    
  
Kurt had gone quiet next to him, not quite sure which way to act, waiting for Dave’s cue.    
  
And Dave decided not to do anything. It was it, or not; time or not. Dave would deal, one way or the other.    
  
That didn’t mean Dave didn’t start shaking with relief when they left after getting their drinks. Dave heaved a sigh, and laid his head on his arm.    
  
“You okay?” Kurt asked quietly--he knew how close that was.    
  
“Yeah,” Dave said to the table, then again to Kurt’s face when he raised his head. “Yeah, I’m okay.” And more--he knew what his secret would be.    
  
***   
  
This time, instead of a real postcard, Dave found a 6x8 index card. He searched the web, the image he wanted clear in his mind, if only he could  _find_ it and--there--a painting of Pandora weeping over an empty box, with hope like a white fairy touching her shoulder. Perfect. He fiddled with the size, printing it at 6x8, with his secret typed out in the white space below the image. Carefully, Dave cut the secret into its separate words. He glued the picture to the card, then the words to the picture, weaving them around the central image. Once the glue was dry, he stuck it in a envelope and put it in his backpack.    
  
Ms. P’s office was empty when he dropped it off, which was good, because he didn’t think he could have otherwise.    
  
The secrets went up Tuesday morning. Dave asked for a bathroom pass during his free period, and went to check out the board.    
  
The secrets had been tastefully clustered at three points, creating a piece of art in and of itself. Down at the bottom, in the corner, Ms. P had stapled several pamphlets (“Eating is Fun!” “So You Eat Your Feelings” “Sometimes, I Cut Myself”), which made Dave shake his head. But she had also listed several self-help numbers, so Dave counted it as a win.    
  
Finally, Dave let himself look at the secrets. There were a few almost lighthearted secrets (“I actually like the mystery meat in the cafeteria”, “I still check my closet for monsters before bed,” I can’t pee if I can see myself in a mirror,”), and a few that he was sure had Ms P concerned (“Sometimes, I think I am the reason for my parent’s divorce,” “I wish I had said no,” “I’m worried my Cheerio diet is leading me to an eating disorder,”). One was obviously Puckerman’s (“I exaggerate the number of people I’ve slept with to avoid about the freaky stuff I’ve done, and liked”), and another Kurt’s (“I can overhaul and engine in less than 30 minutes and nobody believes me because I can do it and keep my manicure perfect,”).    
  
And there, like it wasn’t Earth-shattering, was Dave’s. “Even though I want to come out, some days I feel less like I’m opening my closet door and more like the walls are falling down around me. I have never been more happy or more terrified.”    
  
Kurt appeared next him, Dave didn’t know how long later. “I know that feeling,” Kurt said, quietly. Dave wasn’t surprised Kurt knew which secret was Dave’s.    
  
“Even this is a risk,” Dave said, quietly. “Every time I--”  _do something brave,_ “I think about my parents. If they--”  _found out,_ “I don’t know.” Dave swallowed.    
  
“You deal,” Kurt said, after a moment. “With the help of the people who love you and accept you for who you are.” Kurt nudged him. “That includes me, you know.”    
  
Dave smiled. “Thanks, Kurt.”    
  
“You’re welcome, Dave.”    
  
They stood together for a moment in silence.    
  
“Can you really overhaul and engine?” Dave asked, at last. “Because my truck keeps knocking and my dad only  _thinks_ he’s a mechanic.”   
  
Kurt snorted. “Yes, Dave. I’ll take a look after the meeting.”   
  
“Awesome,” Dave said.


End file.
